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600057946

LOST
IN THE BACKWOODS.

Ml, ^tdt x)£ the ^anaiian ^x^reot.

By

MRS, TRAILL,
Author of " In the Forest," &»c.

]^iTH J'hirty-Jwo ^NGRAYINGS.

T. NELSON AND SONS, PATERNOSTER ROW.

EDINBURGH ; AND NEW YORK.
1882.

- ■' .. ■■ ; . / V. ^- V.

Extinct.

-♦♦-

The interesting tale contained in this volume of
romantic adventure in the forests of Canada, was
much appreciated and enjoyed by a large circle of
young readers when first published, under the title of
" The Canadian Crusoes." After being many years
out of print, it will now, we hope and believe, with a
new and more descriptive title, prove equally attrac-
tive to our young friends of the present time.

Edikburoh, 1882.

JMiiBt ot ^lluBtrationB.

-♦♦-

A CAKADIAN TRAFPEB,

THS WOODPECKER,

LOUIS CONTESSINO HIS DKOBPTION,

THE 7IRST B&EAKFAST, . .

THE SENTINEL WOLF,

CATHARINE FOUND BY THE OLD DOO,

WILD BEES,

THE GRAY SQUIRREL,

the' WOLVERINE,

THE ATTACK ON THE DEEB,

PECCARIES,

RAFTS ON THE ST. LAWRENCE,

THE WOUNDED DOE,

HECTOR BRINOINO THE INDIAN OIRL,

COB OF INDIAN CORN,

A MOCCASIN,

SHOOTING WILD FOWL,

DEATH OF THE CHIEF'S SON,

CANADIAN LAKE SCENERY,

CHIPPEWA INDIANS OF THE PRESENT DAY

A SNOW-SHOE,

Frontispitce

21

27

43

76

92

100

105

106

HI

118

125

142

161

160

164

181

190

201

218

222

VUl

LIST OP ILLUSTRATIONS.

OHITMINKS,

AT WOBK IN THB FO&BST,

A F0BE8T ON VIRR,

VISIT OF THE INDIAN FAMILY,

CATHABINB CAKBIBD OFF,

KINOFI8HXB AND DRAGON F^ T,

AN INDIAN OBADLB,

AN INDIAN CAMP,

INDIANA BEFORE THB BALD EAOLE,

INDIANA AT THB STAKE, ..

THB BBTURN HOME,

229
281

235
245
262
260
268
271
294
299
816

LOST IN THE BACKWOODS

-♦♦-

CHAPTER L

" The morning had shot her bright streamers on high,
O'er Canada, opening all pale to the sky ;
Still dazzling and white was the robe that she wore,
Except where the ocean wave lashed on the shore."

Jacobite Song.

[ERE lies, between the Rice Lake and the
Ontario, a deep and fertile valley, sur-
rounded by lofty wood -crowned hills,
clothed chiefly with groves of oak and
pine ; the sides of the hills and the alluvial bottoms
display a variety of noble timber trees of various
kinds, as the useful and beautiful maple, beech, and
hemlock. This beautiful and highly picturesque
valley is watered by many clear streams, whence it
derives its appropriate appellation of " Cold Springs."
At the period my little history commences, this
now highly cultivated spot was an unbroken wilder-
ness, — all but two clearings, where dwelt the only
occupiers of the soil, — which previously owned no

10 PAST AND PRESENT.

other possessors than the wandering hunting tribes
of wild Indians, to whom the right of the hunting
grounds north of Rice Lake appertained, according to
their forest laws.

I speak of the time when the neat and flourishing
town of Cobourg, now an important port on Lake
Ontario, was but a village in embryo, — if it contained
even a log-house or a block-house, it was all that it
did —and the wild and picturesque ground upon which
the fast increasing village of Port Hope is situated
had not yielded one forest tree to the axe of the
settler. No gallant vessel spread her sails to waft
the abundant produce of grain and Canadian stores
along the waters of that noble sheet of water; no
steamer had then furrowed its bosom with her iron
paddles, bearing the stream of emigration towards
the wilds of our northern and western forests, there
to render a lonely trackless desert a fruitful garden.
What will not time and the industry of man, assisted
by the blessing of a merciful God, effect? To him be
the glory and honour; for we are taught that " unless
the Lord build the house, their labour is but lost that
build it t without the Lord keep the city, the watch-
man waketh but in vam."

But to my tale. And first it will be necessary to
introduce to the acquaintance of my young readers
the founders of our little settlement at Cold Springs.

Duncan Maxwell was a young Highland soldier, a
youth of eighteen, at the famous battle of Quebec,
where, though only a private, he received the praise
of his colonel for his brave conduct. At the close of

THE TOUNO HIGHLANDER. 11

the battle Duncan was wounded; and as the hospital
was full at the time, he was billeted in the house
of a poor French Canadian widow in the Quebec
suburb. Here, though a foreigner and an enemy,
he received much kind attention from his excellent
hostess and her family, consisting of a yoimg man
about his own age, and a pretty black -eyed lass not
more than sixteen. The widow Perron was so much
occupied with other lodgers — for she kept a sort of
boarding-house — that she had not much time to give
to Duncan,'so that he was left a great deal to her son
Pierre, and a little to Catharine, her daughter.

Duncan Maxwell was a fine, open-tempered, frank
lad, and he soon won the regard of Pierre and his
sister. In spite of the prejudices of coimtry, and
the difference of language and national customs, a
steady and increasing friendship grew up between
the young Highlander and the children of his hostess;
therefore it was not without feelings of deep regret
that they heard the news that the regiment to which
Duncan belonged was ordered for embarkation to
England, and Duncan was so far convalescent as to
be pronounced quite well enough to join it. Alas
for poor Catharine ! she now found that parting with
her patient was a source of the deepest sorrow to her
young and guileless heart; nor was Duncan less
moved at the separation from his gentle nurse. It
might be for years, and it might be for ever, he could
not tell ; but he could not tear himself away without
telling the object of his affections how dear she was
to him, and to whisper a hope tliat "\\^ TCL\^\i ^^H»

12 CHANGES.

return one day to claim her as his bride; and
Catharine, weeping and blushing, promised to wait
for that happy day, or to remain single for his sake.

They say the course of true love never did run
smooth ; but with the exception of this great sorrow,
the sorrow of separation, the love of our young High-
land soldier and his betrothed knew no other inter-
ruption, for absence served only to strengthen the
affection which was founded on gratitude and esteem.

Two long years passed, however, and the prospect
of reunion was yet distant, when an accident, which
disabled Dimcan from serving his coimtry, enabled
him to retire with the usual little pension, and return
to Quebec to seek his aflSanced. Some changes had
taken place during that short period: the widow
Perron was dead; Pierre, the gay, lively -hearted
Pierre, was married to a daughter of a lumberer; and
Catharine, who had no relatives in Quebec, had gone
up the country with her brother and his wife, and
was living in some little settlement above Montreal
with them.

Thither Duncan followed, and shortly afterwards
was married to his faithful Catharine. On ono point
they had never differed, both being of the same
religion.

Pierre had seen a good deal of the fine country on
the shores of Lake Ontario; he had been hunting with
some friendly Indians between the great waters and
the Rice Lake ; and he now thought if Duncan and
himself could make up their minds to a quiet life in
the woods, there was not a better spot than the hill

IN THE BACKW00I>8. 13

pass between the plains and the big lake to fix them-
selves upon. Duncan was of the same opinion when
he saw the spot. It was not rugged and bare like his
own Highlands, but softer in character, yet his heart
yearned for the hill country. In those days there
was no obstacle to taking possession of any tract of
land in the unsurveyed forests; therefore Duncan
agreed with his brother-in-law to pioneer the way
with him, get a dwelling put up, and some ground
prepared and " seeded down," and then to return for
their wives, and settle as farmers. Others had suc-
ceeded, had formed little colonies, and become the
heads of villages in due time ; why should not they ?
And now behold our two backwoodsmen fairly com-
mencing their arduous life : it was nothing, after all,
to Pierre, by previous occupation a hardy lumberer,
or the Scottish soldier, accustomed to brave all sorts
of hardships in a wild country, himself a mountaineer,
inured to a stormy climate and scanty fare from his
earliest youth. But it is not my intention to dwell
upon the trials and difficulties courageously met and
battled with by our settlers and their young wives.

There was in those days a spirit of resistance
among the first settlers on the soil, a spirit to do and
bear, that is less commonly met with now. The
spirit of civilization is now so widely diffused, that
her comforts are felt even in the depths of the forest,
so that the newly come emigrant feels comparatively
few of the physical evils that were endured by the
earlier inhabitants.

The first seed- wheat that was cast into tVv^ ^qwtA

14 THE FRENCHMAN AND THE SCOT.

by Duncan and Pierre was brought with infinite
trouble a distance of fifty miles in a little skiff*,
navigated along the shores of Lake Ontario by the
adventurous Pierre, and from the nearest landing-place
transported on the shoulders of himself and Duncan
to their homestead. A day of great labour but great
joy it was when they deposited their precious freight
in safety on the shanty floor. They were obliged to
make two journeys for the contents of the little craft.
What toil, what privation they endured for the first
two years ! and now the fruits of it began to appear.

No two creatures could be more unlike than Pierre
and Duncan. The Highlander, stem, steady, per-
severing, cautious, always giving ample reasons for
his doing or his not doing. The Canadian, hopeful,
lively, fertile in expedients, and gay as a lark; if one
scheme failed, another was sure to present itself.
Pierre and Duncan were admirably suited to be
friends and neighbours. The steady perseverance of
the Scot helped to temper the volatile temperament
of the Frenchman. They generally contrived to
compass the same end by different means, as two
streams descending from opposite hills will meet in
one broad river in the same valley.

Years passed on : the farm, carefully cultivated,
began to yield its increase ; food and warm clothing
were not wanting in the homestead. Catharine had
become, in course of time, the happy mother of four
healthy children ; her sister-in-law had exceeded her
in these welcome contributions to the population of a
new colony.

A PATTERN OF AFFECTION. 15

Between the children of Pierre and Catharine the
most charming harmony prevailed ; they grew up as
one family, a pattern of affection and early friendship.
Though different in tempers and dispositions. Hector
Maxwell, the eldest son of the Scottish soldier, and
his cousin, young Louis Perron, were greatly attached:
they, with the young Catharine and Mathilde, formed
a little coterie of inseparables; their amusements,
tastes, pursuits, occupations, all blended and harmon-
ized delightfully; there were none of those little
envyings and bickerings among them that pave the
way to strife and disunion in after-life.

Catharine Maxwell and her cousin Louis were more
like brother and sister than Hector and Catharine ;
but Mathilde was gentle and dove-like, and formed a
contrast to the gravity of Hector and the vivacity of
Louis and Catharine.

Hector and Louis were fourteen — strong, vigorous,
industrious, and hardy, both in constitution and
habits. The girls were turned of twelve. It is not
with Mathilde that our story is connected, but with
the two lads and Catharine. With the gaiety and
TWblveU of the Frenchwoman, Catharine possessed,
when occasion called it into action, a thoughtful and
well-regulated mind, abilities which would well have
repaid the care of mental cultivation ; but of book-
learning she knew nothing beyond a little reading,
and that but imperfectly, acquired from her father's
teaching. It was an accomplishment which he had
gained when in the army, having been taught by his
colonel's son, a lad of twelve years of age, wIao VvaA.

16 HOME TRAINING.

taken a great fancy to him, and had at parting given
him a few of his school-books, among which was a
Testament without cover or title-page. At parting,
the young gentleman recommended its daily perusal
to Duncan. Had the gift been a Bible, perhaps the
soldier's obedience to his priest might have rendered
it a dead letter to him; but as it fortunately happened,
he was unconscious of any prohibition to deter him
from becoming acquainted with the truths of the
gospel. He communicated the power of perusing his
books to his children Hector and Catharine, Duncan
and Kenneth, in succession, with a feeling of intense
reverence ; even the labour of teaching was regarded
as a holy duty in itself, and was not undertaken
without deeply impressing the obligation he was con-
ferring upon them whenever they were brought to
the task. It was indeed a precious boon, and the
children learned to consider it as a pearl beyond all
price in the trials that awaited them in their eventful
career. To her knowledge of religious truths young
Catharine added an intimate acquaintance with the
songs and legends of her father's romantic country ;
often would her plaintive ballads and old tales,
related in the hut or the wigwam to her attentive
auditors, wile away heavy thoughts.

It was a lovely sunny day in the flowery month of
June. Canada had not only doffed that "dazzling
white robe" mentioned in the songs of her Jacob-
ite emigrants, but had assumed the beauties of her
loveliest season; the last week in May and the first
three of June being parallel to the English May,

(721)

IN THE FLOWERY MONTH OF JUNE. 1 7

full of buds and flowers and fair promise of ripening
fruits.

The high sloping hills surrounding the fertile vale
of Cold Springs were clothed with the blossoms of
the gorgeous scarlet castilegia coccinea, or painted -
cup ; the large, pure, white blossoms of the lily-like
trillium grandiflorum; the delicate and fragile lilac
geranium, whose graceful flowers woo the hand of the
flower-gatherer only to fade almost within his grasp:
the golden cypripedium or moccasin flower, so
singular, so lovely in its colour and formation,
waved heavily its yellow blossoms as the breeze
shook the stems ; and there, mingling with a thou-
sand various floral beauties, the azure lupine claimed
its place, shedding almost a heavenly tint upon the
earth. Thousands of roses were blooming on the
more level groimd, sending forth their rich fragrance,
mixed with the delicate scent of the feathery ceano-
thus (New Jersey tea). The vivid greenness of the
young leaves of the forest, the tender tint of the
springing com, was contrasted with the deep dark
fringe of waving pines on the hills, and the yet
darker shade of the spruce and balsams on the
borders of the creeks, for so our Canadian forest rills
are imiversally termed. The bright glancing wings
of the summer red-bird, the crimson-headed wood-
pecker, the gay blue-bird, and noisy but splendid
plumed jay might be seen among the branches ; the
air was filled with beauteous sights and soft murmur-
ing sounds.

Under the shade of the luxuriant hop-vivi^^ XJcvaX*
(7a) 2

18 AN INVITATION.

covered the rustic porch in front of the little
dwelling, the light step of Catharine Maxwell might
be heard mixed with the drowsy whirring of the
big wheel, as she passed to and fro guiding the
thread of yam in its course. And now she sa^
snatches of old mountain songs, such as she had
learned from her father ; and now, with livelier air,
hummed some gay French tune to the household
melody of her spinning-wheel, as she advanced and
retreated with her thread, unconscious of the laugh-
ing black eyes that were watching her movements
from among the embowering foliage that shielded her
from the morning sun.

" Come, ma belle cousine," for so Louis delighted to
call her. " Hector and I are waiting for you to go
with us to the * Beaver Meadow.* The cattle have
strayed, and we think we shall find them there. The
day is delicious, the very flowers look as if they
wanted to be admired and plucked, and we shall find
early strawberries on the old Indian clearing."

Catharine cast a longing look abroad, but said, " I
fear I cannot go to-day; for see, I have all these
rolls of wool to spin up, and my yam to wind off the
reel and twist ; and then, my mother is away."

" Yes, I left her with mamma," replied Louis, " and
she said she would be home shortly, so her absence
need not stay you. She said you could take a basket
and try and bring home some berries for sick Louise.
Hector is sure he knows a spot where we shall get
some fine ones, ripe and red." As he spoke Louis
whisked away the big wheel to one end of the porch,

LEAVING HOHB. 19

gathered up the hanks of yam and tossed them into
the open wicker basket, and the next minute the
large, coarse, flapped straw hat, that hung upon the
peg in the porch, was stuck not very gracefully on
Catharine's head and tied beneath her chin, with a
merry rattling laugh, which drowned effectually the
small lecture that Catharine began to utter by way
of reproving the light-hearted boy.

" But where is Mathilde ? "

" Sitting like a dear good girl, as she is, with sick
Louise's head in her lap, and would not disturb her
for all the fruit and flowers in Canada. Marie cried
sadly to go with us, but I promised her and Louise
lots of flowers and berries if we get them, and the
dear children were as happy as queens when I left."

" But stay, cousin, you are sure my mother gave
her consent to my going ? We shall be away chief
part of the day. You know it is a long walk to the
Beaver Meadow and back again," said Catharine,
hesitating as Louis took her hand to lead her out from
the porch.

" Yes, yes, ma belle," said the giddy boy quickly ;
" so come along, for Hector is waiting at the bam.
But stayj we shall be hungry before we return, so let
us have some cakes and butter, and do not forget a
tin cup for water."

Nothing doubting, Catharine, with buoyant spirits,
set about her little preparations, which were soon
completed ; but just as she was leaving the little
garden enclosure, she ran back to kiss Kenneth and
Duncan, her young brothers. In the farai-^^T^ ^^

20 IN THE FOREST.

found Hector with his axe on his shoulder. " What
are you taking the axe for, Hector ? you will find it
heavy to carry." said his sister.

" In the first place, I have to cut a stick of blue
beech to make a broom for sweeping the house, sister
of mine, and that is for your use, Miss Kate ; and in
the next place, I have to find, if possible, a piece of
rock elm or hickory for axe handles: so now you
have the reason why I take the axe with me."

The children left the clearing and struck into one
of the deep defiles that lay between the hills, and
cheerfully they laughed and sung and chattered, as
they sped on their pleasant path ; nor were they loath
to exchange the glowing sunshine for the sober gloom
of the forest shade. What handfuls of flowers of all
hues, red, blue, yellow, and white, were gathered, only
to be gazed at, carried for a while, then cast aside for
others fresher and fairer. And now they came to
cool rills that flowed, softly murmuring, among mossy
limestone, or blocks of red or gray granite, wending
their way beneath twisted roots and fallen trees; and
often Catharine lingered to watch the eddying dimples
of the clear water, to note the tiny bright fragments
of quartz or crystallized limestone that formed a
shining pavement below the stream. And oftei;i she
paused to watch the angry movements of the red
squirrel, as, with feathery tail erect, and sharp scold-
ing note, he crossed their woodland path, and swiftly
darting up the rugged bark of some neighbouring
pine or hemlock, bade the intruders on his quiet
haunts defiance; yet so bold in his indignation.

WOODLAND SOtrtlD&

he scarcelj conde-
scended to ascend
beyond their reach
The long - con
tinued, hollow tap-
ping of the large
red - headed wood
pecker, or the sm
gular subterranean
sound caused by
the drumming of
the partridge stnk
ing his wings upon
his breast to woo
his gentle mate,and
the soft whispenng
note of the little
tree-creeper, as it
flitted from one
hemlock to another
collecting its food
between the fissures
of the bark, were
among the few
sounds that broke
the noontide still
ness of the woods
but to such sights
and sounds the
hvely Catharine
and her cousin

22 WAITING FOR HECTOR.

were not indifferent. And often they wondered that
Hector gravely pursued his onward way, and seldom
lingered as they did to mark the bright colours of
the flowers, or the sparkling of the forest rill, or the
hurrying to and fro of the turkeys among the
luxuriant grass.

" What makes Hec so grave ? " said Catharine to
her companion, as they seated themselves upon a
mossy trunk to await his coming up ; for they had
giddily chased each other till they had far outrun
him.

"Hector, sweet coz, is thinking perhaps of how
many bushels of com or wheat this land would grow
if cleared, or he may be examining the soil or the
trees, or is looking for his stick of blue beech for
your broom, or the hickory for his axe handles, and
never heeding such nonsense as woodpeckers, and
squirrels, and lilies, and moss, and ferns ; for Hector
is not a giddy thing like his cousin Louis, or — *'

" His sister Kate," interrupted Catharine merrily.
" But when shall we come to the Beaver Meadow ? "

" Patience, ma belle, all in good time. Hark ! was
not that the ox-bell ? No ; Hector whistling." And
soon they heard the heavy stroke of his axe ringing
among the trees; for he had found the blue beech, and
was cutting it to leave on the path, that he might
take it home on their return: he had also marked
some hickory of a nice size for his axe handles, to
bring home at some future time.

The children had walked several miles, and were
not sorry to sit down and rest till Hector joined them.

BEAVER MEADOW. 23

He was well pleased with his success, and declared
he felt no fatigue. " As soon as we reach the old
Indian clearing, we shall find strawberries," he said,
" and a fresh cold spring, and then we will have our
dinner."

"Come, Hector, — come, Louis," said Catharine,
jumping up, " I long to be gathering the strawberries;
and see, my flowers are faded, so I will throw them
away, and the basket shall be filled with fresh fruit
instead, and we must not forget petite Marie and sick
Louise, or dear Mathilde. Ah, how I wish she were
here at this minute ! But there is the opening to the
Beaver Meadow."

And the sunlight was seen streaming through the
opening trees as they approached the cleared space,
which some called the " Indian clearing," but is now
more generally known as the little Beaver Meadow.
It was a pleasant spot, green, and surrounded with
light bowery trees and flowering shrubs, of a different
growth from those that belong to the dense forest.
Here the children found, on the hilly ground above,
fine ripe strawberries, the earliest they had seen that
year, and soon all weariness was forgotten while pur-
suing the delightful occupation of gathering the
tempting fruit ; and when they had refreshed them-
selves, and filled the basket with leaves and fruit,
they slaked their thirst at the stream which wound
its way among the bushes. Catharine neglected not
to reach down flowery bunches of the fragrant white-
thorn, and the high-bush cranberry, then radiant with
nodding umbels of snowy blossoms, or to wreathe the

24 IN PERPLEXITY.

handle of the little basket with the graceful trailing
runners of the lovely twin-flowered plant, the Linnsea
borealis, which she always said reminded her of the
twins Louise and Marie, her little cousins. And now
the day began to wear away, for they had lingered
long in the little clearing ; they had wandered from
the path by which they entered it, and had neglected,
in their eagerness to look for the strawberries, to
notice any particular mark by which they might re-
gain it. Just when they began to think of returning,
Louis noticed a beaten path, where there seemed
recent prints of cattle hoofs on a soft spongy soil
beyond the creek.

" Come, Hector," said he gaily, " this is lucky ; we
are on the cattle-path; no fear but it will lead us
directly home, and that by a nearer track."

Hector was undecided about following it; he fancied
it bent too much towards the setting sun; but his
cousin overruled his objection. " And is not this our
own creek ? " he said. " I have often heard my father
say it had its rise somewhere about this old clearing."

Hector now thought Louis might be right, and
they boldly followed the path among the poplars,
thorns, and bushes that clothed its banks, surprised
to see how open the ground became, and how swift
and clear the stream swept onward.

" Ob, this dear creek," cried the delighted Catharine,
" how pretty it is ! I shall often follow its course
after this ; no doubt it has its source from our own
Cold Springs."

And so they cheerfully pursued their way, till the

BEWILDERED. 25

sun, sinking behind the range of westerly hills, soon
left them in gloom ; but they anxiously hurried for-
ward when the stream wound its noisy way among
steep stony banks, clothed scantily with pines and a
few scattered silver-barked poplars. And now they
became bewildered by two paths leading in opposite
directions; one upward among the rocky hills, the
other through the opening gorge of a deep ravine.

Here, overcome with fatigue, Catharine seated her-
self on a large block of granite, near a great bushy
pine that grew beside the path by the ravine, unable
to proceed ; and Hector, with a grave and troubled
countenance, stood beside her, looking round with an
air of great perplexity. Louis, seating himself at
Catharine's feet, surveyed the deep gloomy valley
before them, and sighed heavily. The conviction
forcibly struck him that they had mistaken the path
altogether. The very aspect of the country was
different; the growth of the trees, the flow of the
stream, all indicated a change of soil and scene.
Darkness was fast drawing its impenetrable veil
around them; a few stars were stealing out, and
gleaming down as if with pitying glance upon the
young wanderers ; but they could not light up their
pathway or point their homeward track. The only
sounds, save the lulling murmur of the rippling
stream below, were the plaintive note of the whip-
poor-will, from a gnarled oak that, grew near them,
and the harsh grating scream of the night hawk,
darting about in the higher regions of the air, pursu-
ing its noisy congeners, or swooping down with thai*

26 A CONFESSION.

peculiar hollow rushing sound, as of a person blowing
into some empty vessel, when it seizes with wide-
extended bill its insect prey.

Hector was the first to break the silence. " Cousin
Louis, we were wrong in following the course of the
stream ; I fear we shall never find our way back to-
night."

Louis made no reply; his sad and subdued air
failed not to attract the attention of his cousins.

" Why, Louis, how is this ? you are not used to be
cast down by difficulties," said Hector, as he marked
something like tears glistening in the dark eyes of his
cousin.

Louis's heart was full ; he did not reply, but cast
a troubled glance upon the weary Catharine, who
leaned heavily against the tree beneath which she
sat.

" It is not," resumed Hector, " that I mind passing
a summer s night under such a sky as this, and with
such a dry grassy bed below me ; but I do not think
it is good for Catharine to sleep on the bare ground
in the night dews, — ^and then they will be so anxious
at home about our absence."

Louis burst into tears, and sobbed out, — " And it
is all my doing that she came out with us; I deceived
her, and my aunt will be angry and much alarmed,
for she did not. know of her going at all. Dear
Catharine, good cousin Hector, pray forgive me ! "

But Catharine was weeping too much to reply to
his passionate entreaties ; and Hector, who never
swerved from the truth, for which he had almost a

HECTORS INDIGNATION.

stem reverence, hardly repressed his indignation at
what appeared to him a most culpable act of deceit
on the part of Louis.

The sight of her cousin's grief and self-abasement
touched the tender heart of Catharine ; for she TToa

28 CATHARINE INTERCSDB8.

kind and dove-like in her disposition, and loved
Louis, with all his faults. Had it not been for the
painful consciousness of the grief their unusual
absence would occasion at home, Catharine would
have thought nothing of their present adventure;
but she could not endure the idea of her high-prin-
cipled father taxing her with deceiving her kind
indulgent mother and him. It was this humiliating
thought which wounded the proud heart of Hector,
causing him to upbraid his cousin in somewhat harsh
terms for his want of truthfuhiess, and steeled him
against the bitter grief that wrung the heart of the
penitent Louis, who, leaning his wet cheek on the
shoulder of Catharine, sobbed as if his heart would
break, heedless of her soothing words and affectionate
endeavours to console him.

" Dear Hector," she said, turning her soft pleading
eyes on the stern face of her brother, " you must not
be so very angry with poor Louis. Remember it was
to please me, and give me the enjoyment of a day of
liberty with you and himself in the woods, among
the flowers and trees and birds, that he committed
this fault."

"Catharine, Louis told an untruth, and acted
deceitfully. And look at the consequences : we shall
have forfeited our parents' confidence, and may have
some days of painful privation to endure before we
regain our home, if we ever do find our way back to
Cold Springs," replied Hector.

" It is the grief and anxiety our dear parents will
endure this night," answered Catharine, "that dis-

A CALL TO WORK. 29

tresses my mind ; but," she added, in more cheerful
tones, " let us not despair, no doubt to-morrow we
shall be able to retrace our steps."

With the young there is ever a magical spell in
that little word to-morrow, — it is a point which they
pursue as fast as it recedes from them ; sad indeed
is the young heart that does not look forward with
hope to the future 1

The cloud still hung on Hector's brow, till Catha-
rine gaily exclaimed, " Come, Hector! come Louis! we
must not stand idling thus ; we must think of pro-
viding some shelter for the night : it is not good to
rest upon the bare ground exposed to the night dews.
— See, here is a nice hut, half made," pointing to a
large upturned root which some fierce whirlwind had
hurled from the lofty bank into the gorge of the
dark glen.

" Now you must make haste, and lop off a few
pine boughs, and stick them into the ground, or even
lean them against the roots of this old oak, and
there, you see, will be a capital house to shelter us.
To work, to work, you idle boys, or poor wee Katty
must turn squaw and build her own wigwam," she
playfully added, taking up the axe which rested
against the feathery pine beneath which Hector was
leaning. Now, Catharine cared as little as her
brother and cousin about passing a warm summer's
night under the shade of the forest trees, for she was
both hardy and healthy ; but her woman's heart
taught her that the surest means of reconciling the
coasins would be by mutually interesting them m

30 BUILDING A WIGWAM.

the same object, — and she was right. In endeavour-
ing to provide for the comfort of their dear com-
panion, all angry feelings were forgotten by Hector,
while active employment chased away Louis's melan-
choly.

Unlike the tall, straight, naked trunks of the pines
of the forest, those of the plains are adorned with
branches often to the very ground, varying in form
and height, and often presenting most picturesque
groups, or rising singly among scattered groves of
the silver-barked poplar or graceful birch trees ; the
dark mossy greenness of the stately pine contrasting
finely with the light waving foliage of its slender,
graceful companions.

Hector, with his axe, soon lopped boughs from one
of the adjacent pines, which Louis sharpened with
his knife and, with Catharine's assistance, drove into
the ground, arrangmg them in such a w^y as to make
the upturned oak, with its roots and the earth which
adhered to them, form the back part of the hut,
which when completed formed by no means a con-
temptible shelter. Catharine then cut fern and deer
grass with Louis's couteau de chasse, which he always
carried in a sheath at his girdle, and spread two beds,
— one, parted off by dry boughs and bark, for herself,
in the interior of the wigwam; and one for her
brother and cousin, nearer the entrance. When all
was finished to her satisfaction she called the two
boys, and, according to the custom of her parents,
joined them in the lifting up of their hands as an
evening sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving. Nor

UNDER THE SHADOW OF THE ALMIGHTY. 31

were these simple-hearted children backward in
imploring help and protection from the Most High.
They earnestly prayed that no dangerous creature
might come near to molest them during the hours of
darkness and helplessness, no evil spirit visit them,
no imholy or wicked thoughts intrude into their
minds ; but that holy angels and heavenly thoughts
might hover over them, and fill their hearts with the
peace of God which passeth all understanding. And
the prayer of the poor wanderers was heard; they
slept in peace, unharmed, in the vast solitude. So
passed their first night on the Plains.

CHAPTER n.

" Fear not: je are of more value than many sparrows."— 5& Luke.

HE sun had risen in all the splendour of
a Canadian summer morning when the
sleepers arose from their leafy beds. In
spite of the novelty of their situation,
they had slept as soundly and tranquilly as if they
had been under the protecting care of their beloved
parents, on their little palliasses of corn straw ; but
they had been cared for by Him who neither slum-
bereth nor sleepeth, and they waked full of youthful
hope, and in fulness of faith in His mercy into whose
hands they had commended their souls and bodies
before they retired to rest.

While the children slept in peace and safety, what
terrors had filled the minds of their distracted parents !
what a night of anguish and sorrow had they passed !

When night had closed in without bringing back
the absent children, the two fathers, lighting torches
of fat pine, went forth in search of the wanderers.
How often did they raise their voices in hopes their
loud halloos might reach tJie hearing of the lost ones !
How often did they check their hurried steps to

IN* SEARCH OF THE WANDERER& 33

listen for some replying call ! But the sighing breeze
in the pine tops, or sudden rustling of the leaves
caused by the flight of the birds startled by the
unusual glare of the torches, and the echoes of their
own voices, were the only sounds that met their
anxious ears. At daybreak they returned, sad and
dispirited, to their homes, to snatch a morsel of food,
endeavour to cheer the drooping hearts of the weep-
ing mothers, and hurry off, taking different directions.
But, unfortunately, they had little clue to the route
which Hector and Louis had taken, there being many
cattle-paths through the woods. Louis's want of
truthfulness had caused this uncertainty, as he had
left no intimation of the path he purposed taking
when he quitted his mother's house. He had merely
said he was going with Hector in search of the cattle,
giving no hint of his intention of asking Catharine
to accompany them ; he had but told his sick sister
that he would bring home strawberries and flowers,
and that he would soon return. Alas ! poor, thought-
less Louis ! how little did you think of the web of
woe you were then weaving for yourself, and all
those to whom you and your companions were so
dear ! Children, think twice ere ye deceive once.

Catharine's absence would have been quite unac-
countable but for the testimony of Duncan and Ken-
neth, who had received her sisterly caresses before
she joined Hector at the bam ; and much her mother
marvelled what could have induced her good, dutiful
Catharine to have left her work and forsaken her
household duties to go rambling away with the bor^^^

(721) 3

34 NO TID1NQ&

for she never left the house when her mother was
absent from it without her express permission. And
now she was gone, — lost to them perhaps for ever.
Tlicre stood the wheel she had been turning ; there
hung the untwisted hanks of yam, her morning task;
and there they remained week after week, and month
after month, untouched, — ^a melancholy memorial to
the hearts of the bereaved parents of their beloved.

It were indeed a fruitless task to follow the
agonized fathers in their vain search for their chil-
dren, or to paint the bitter anguish that filled their
hearts as day passed after day, and still no tidings of
the lost ones. As hope faded, a deep and settled
gloom stole over the sorrowing parents, and reigned
throughout the once cheerful and gladsome homes.
At the end of a week the only idea that remained
was, that one of these three casualties had befallen
the lost children, — death, a lingering death by famine;
death, cruel and horrible, by wolves or bears ; or, yet
more terrible, with tortures by the hands of the
dreaded Indians, who occasionally held their councils
and hunting-parties on the hills about the Rice Lake,
which was known only by the elder Perron as the
scene of many bloody encounters between the rival
tribes of the Mohawks and Chippewas. Its localities
were scarcely ever visited by the settlers, lest haply
they should fall into the hands of the bloody Mohawks,
whose merciless disposition made them in those days
a by-word even to the less cruel Chippewas and
other Indian nations.

It was not in the direction of the Rice Lake that

THE PANGS OF DOUBT. 35

Maxwell and his brother-in-law sought their lost
children ; and even if they had done so, among the
deep glens and hUl passes of what is now commonly
called the Plains, they would have stood little chance
of discovering the poor wanderers. After many days
of fatigue of body and distress of mind, the sorrowing
parents sadly relinquished the search as utterly hope-
less, and mourned in bitterness of spirit over the
disastrous fate of their first-born and beloved chil-
dren. " There was a voice of woe, and lamentation,
and great mourning; Rachel weeping for her chil-
dren, and refusing to be comforted, because they were
not."

The miserable uncertainty that involved the fate
of the lost ones was an aggravation to the sufferings
of the mourners. Could they but have been certified
of the manner of their deaths, they fancied they
should be more contented; but, alas! this fearful
satisfaction was withheld.

** Oh, were their tale of sorrow known,

Twere something to the breaking heart ;
The pangs of doubt would then be gone.
And fancy's endless dreams depart."

But let US quit the now mournful settlement of
Cold Springs, and see how it really fared with the
yoimg wanderers.

When they awoke, the valley was filled with a
white creamy mist, that arose from the bed of the
stream (now known as Cold Creek), and gave an
indistinctness to the whole landscape, investing it
with an appearance perfectly different to that 'w\\\dcv

36 THE LOST ONES.

it had worn by the bright, clear light of the moon.
No trace of their footsteps remained to guide them
in retracing their path; so hard and dry was the
stony ground that it left no impression on its surface.
It was with some difficulty they found the creek,
which was concealed from sight by a lofty screen of
gigantic hawthorns, high-bush cranberries, poplars,
and birch trees. The hawthorn was in blossom, and
gave out a sweet perfume, not less fragrant than the
"May," which makes the lanes and hedgerows of
" merrie old England " so sweet and fair in May and
June.

At length their path began to grow more difficult.
A tangled mass of cedars, balsams, birch, black ash,
alders, and tamarack (Indian name for the larch),
with a dense thicket of bushes and shrubs, such as
love the cool, damp soil of marshy ground, warned
our travellers that they must quit the banks of the
friendly stream, or they might become entangled in
a trackless swamp. Having taken copious and re-
freshing draughts from the bright waters, and bathed
their hands and faces, they ascended the grassy bank,
and, again descending, found themselves in one of
those long valleys, enclosed between lofty sloping
banks, clothed with shrubs and oaks, with here and
there a stately pine. Through this second valley
they pursued their way, till, emerging into a wider
space, they came among those singularly picturesque
groups of rounded gravel-hills, where the Cold Creek
once more met their view, winding its way towards a
grove of evergreens, where it was again lost to the eye.

RICE LAKE. 37

This lovely spot was known as Sackville's Mill-
dike. The hand of man had curbed the free course
of the wild forest stream, and made it subservient to
his will, but could not destroy the natural beauties of
the scene.

Fearing to entangle themselves in the swamp, they
kept the hilly ground, winding their way up to the
summit of the lofty ridge of the oak hills, the highest
ground they had yet attained ; and here it was that
the silver waters of the Rice Lake in all its beauty
burst upon the eyes of the wondering and delighted
travellers. There it lay, a sheet of liquid silver, just
emerging from the blue veil of mist that hung upon
its surface and concealed its wooded shores on either
side. All feeling of dread, and doubt, and danger
was lost for the time in one rapturous glow of admir-
ation at the scene so unexpected and so beautiful as
that which they now gazed upon from the elevation
they had gained. From this ridge they looked down
the lake, and the eye could take in an extent of many
miles, with its verdant wooded islands, which stole
into view one by one as the rays of the morning sun
drew up the moving curtain of mist that enveloped
them; and soon both northern and southern shores
became distinctly visible, with all their bays, and
capes, and swelling oak and pine crowned hills.

And now arose the question, " Where are we ?
What lake is this ? Can it be the Ontario, or is it
the Rice Lake ? Can yonder shores be those of the
Americans, or are they the hunting-grounds of the
dreaded Indians ? " Hector remembered having often.

38 A PLEASANT SPOT.

heard his father say that the Ontario was like an
inland sea, and the opposite shores not visible unless
in some remarkable state of the atmosphere, when
they had been occasionally discerned by the naked
eye ; while here they could distinctly see objects on
the other side, the peculiar growth of the trees, and
even flights of wild fowl winging their way among
the rice and low bushes on its margin. The breadth
of the lake from shore to shore could not, they
thought, exceed three or four miles ; while its length,
in an easterly direction, seemed far greater, — beyond
what the eye could take in.*

They now quitted the lofty ridge, and bent their
steps towards the lake. Wearied with their walk,
they seated themselves beneath the shade of a beau-
tiful feathery pine, on a high promontory that com-
manded a magnificent view down the lake.

" How pleasant it would be to have a house on this
delightful bank, overlooking the lake ! " said Louis,
" Only think of the fish we could take, and the ducks
and wild fowl we could shoot ; and it would be no
very hard matter to hollow out a log canoe, such a
one as I have heard my father say he has rowed in
across many a lake and broad river below, when he
was lumbering."

" Yes, it would, indeed, be a pleasant spot to live
upon," said Hector, " though I am not quite sure that
the land is as good just here as it is at Cold Springs;
but all those flats and rich valleys would make fine

* The length of the Rice Lake, from its head-waters near Black's Landing to
the mouth of the Trent, is said to be twenty-five miles; its breadth, from north
to south, varies from three to six.

HOME THOUQHTS. 39

pastures, and produce plenty of grain, too, if culti-
vated."

" You always look to the main chance, Hec," said
Louis, laughing; "well, it was worth a few hours'
walking this morning to look upon so lovely a sheet of
water as this. I would spend two nights in a wigwam,
— would not you, ma belle ? — to enjoy such a sight."

" Yes, Louis," replied his cousin, hesitating as she
spoke; " it is very pretty, and I did not mind sleeping
in the little hut ; but then I cannot enjoy myself as
much as I should have done had my father and
mother been awar^ of my intention of accompanying
you. Ah, my dear, dear parents ! " she added, as the
thought of the anguish the absence of her companions
and herself would cause at home came over her. '* How
I wish I had remained at home ! Selfish Catharine !
foolish, idle girl ! "

Poor Louis was overwhelmed with grief at the
sight of his cousin's tears ; and as the kind-hearted
but thoughtless boy bent over her to soothe and con-
sole her, his own tears fell upon the fair locks of the
weeping girl, and dropped on the hand he held
between his own.

" If you cry thus, cousin," he whispered, " you will
break poor Louis's heart, already sore enough with
thinking of his foolish conduct."

"Be not cast down, Catharine," said her brother
cheeringly; "we may not be so far from home as
you think. As soon as you are rested, we will set
out again, and we may find something to eat ; there
must be strawberries on these sunny banks.'*

40 A DISCOVEKY.

Catharine soon yielded to the voice of her brother,
and drying her eyes, proceeded to descend the sides
of the steep valley that lay to one side of the high
ground where they had been sitting.

Suddenly darting down the bank, she exclaimed,
" Come, Hector ! come, Louis ! here indeed is pro-
vision to keep us from starving ; " for her eye had
caught the bright red strawberries among the flowers
and herbage on the slope — large ripe strawberries,
the very finest she had ever seen.

" There is, indeed, ma belle," said Louis, stooping
as he spoke to gather up, not the fruit, but a dozen
fresh partridge's eggs from the inner shade of a thick
tuft of grass and herbs that grew beside a fallen tree.
Catharine's voice and sudden movements had startled
the ruffed grouse* from her nest, and the eggs were
soon transferred to Louis's straw hat, while a stone
flung by the steady hand of Hector stunned the parent
bird. The boys laughed exultingly as they displayed
their prizes to the astonished Catharine, who, in spite
of hunger, could not help regretting the death of the
mother bird. Girls and women rarely sympathize
with men and boys in their field sports, and Hector
laughed at his sister's doleful looks as he handed
over the bird to her.

" It was a lucky chance," said he, " and the stone
was well aimed, but it is not the first partridge that
I have killed in this way. They are so stupid you

* The Canadian partridge is a species of grouse, laiger than the English or
French partridge. We refer our young readers to the finely arranged specimexis
in the British Museum (open to the public), where they may discover " Louis's
partridge."

ON THE BEACH. 41

may even run them down at times; I hope to get
another before the day is over. Well, there is no
fear of starving to-day, at all events," he added,
as he inspected the contents of his cousin's hat;
*' twelve nice fresh eggs, a bird, and plenty of
fruit."

" But how shall we cook the bird and the eggs ?
We have no means of getting a fire made," said
Catharine.

"As to the eggs," said Louis, "we can eat them
raw; it is not for hungry wanderers like us to be
over-nice about our food."

"They would satisfy us much better were they
boiled, or roasted in the ashes," observed Hector.

**True. Well, a fire, I think, can be got with a
little trouble."

" But how ? " asked Hector.

" Oh, there are many ways, but the readiest would
be a flint with the help of my knife."

" A flint ? "

" Yes, if we could get one ; but I see nothing but
granite, which crumbles and shivers when struck —
we could not get a spark. However, I think it*s very
likely that one of the round pebbles I see on the
beach yonder may be found hard enough for the pur-
pose."

To the shore they bent their steps as soon as the
little basket had been well filled with strawberries ;
and descending the precipitous bank, fringed with
young saplings, birch, ash, and poplars, they quickly
found themselves beside the bright waters of the

42 LOUISAS PROPOSAL.

lake. A flint was soon found among the water-worn
stones that lay thickly strewn upon the shore, and a
handful of dry sedge, almost as inflammable as tinder,
was collected without trouble: though Louis, with
the recklessness of his nature, had coolly proposed to
tear a strip from his cousin's apron as a substitute
for tinder, — a proposal that somewhat raised the
indignation of the tidy Catharine, whose ideas of
economy and neatness were greatly outraged, especi-
ally as she had no sewing implements to assist in
mending the rent. Louis thought nothing of that ;
it was a part of his character to think only of the
present, little of the past, and to let the future pro-
vide for itself. Such was Louis's great failing, which
had proved a fruitful source of trouble both to him-
self and others. In this respect he bore a striking
contrast to his more cautious companion, who pos-
sessed much of the gravity of his father. Hector was
as heedful and steady in his decisions as Louis was
rash and impetuous.

After many futile attempts, and some skin knocked
off their knuckles through awkward handling of the
knife and flint, a good fire was at last kindled, as
there was no lack of dry wood on the shore.
Catharine then triumphantly produced her tin pot,
and the eggs were boiled, greatly to the satisfaction
of all parties, who were by this time sufficiently
hungry, having eaten nothing since the previous
evening more substantial than the strawberries they
had taken during the time they were gathering them
in the morning.

k NATURAL BOWER.

Catharine had selected a pretty, cool, shady recess,
a natural bower, under the overhanging growth of

cedars, poplars, and birch, which were wreathed
t<^ther by the flexible branches of the wild grape
vine and bitter-sweet, which climbed to a height of

44 FOREST FARE.

fifteen feet* among the branches of the trees, which
it covered as with a mantle. A pure spring of cold,
delicious water welled out from beneath the twisted
roots of an old hoary-barked cedar, and found its
way among the shingle on the beach to the lake, a
humble but constant tributary to its waters. Some
large blocks of water- worn stone formed convenient
seats and a natural table, on which the little maiden
arranged the forest fare; and never was a meal made
with greater appetite or taken with more thankful-
ness than that which our wanderers ate that morn-
ing. The eggs (part of which they reserved for
another time) were declared to be better than those
that were daily produced from the little hen-house at
Cold Springs. The strawberries, set out in little
pottles made with the shining leaves of the oak,
ingeniously pinned together by Catharine with the
long spurs of the hawthorn, were voted delicious, and
the pure water most refreshing, that they drank, for
lack of better cups, from a large mussel-shell which
Catharine had picked up among the weeds and
pebbles on the beach.

Many children would have wandered about weep-
ing and disconsolate, lamenting their sad fate, or have
imbittered the time by useless repining, or, perhaps,
by venting their uneasiness in reviling the principal
author of their calamity — poor, thoughtless Louis; but
such were not the dispositions of our young Canadians.
Early accustomed to the hardships incidental to the

* Cdastrus scandetu,— bitter-sweet or woody nightshade. This plant, like
the red-berried bryony of England, is highly ornamental. It possesses powerful
properties as a medicine, and is in high reputation among the Indians.

USEFUL KNOWLEDGE. 45

lives of the settlers in the bush, these young people
had learned to bear with patience and cheerfulness
privations that would have crushed the spirits of
children more delicately nurtured. They had known
every degree of hunger and nakedness : during the
first few years of their lives they had often been
compelled to subsist for days and weeks upon roots
and herbs, wild fruits, and game which their fathers
had learned to entrap, to decoy, and to shoot. Thus
Louis and Hector had early been initiated into the
mysteries of the chase. They could make dead-falls,
and pits, and traps, and snares ; they were as expert
as Indians in the use of the bow ; they could pitch a
stone or fling a wooden dart at partridge, hare, and
squirrel with almost unerring aim; and were as swift
of foot as young fawns. Now it was that they
learned to value in its fullest extent this useful and
practical knowledge, which enabled them to face with
fortitude the privations of a life so precarious as that
to which they were now exposed.

It was one of the elder Maxwell's maxims, — Never
let difficulties overcome you, but rather strive to
conquer them; let the head direct the hand, and the
hand, like a well-disciplined soldier, obey the head as
chief. When his children expressed any doubts of
not being able to accomplish any work they had
begun, he would say, "Have you not hands, have
you not a head, have you not eyes to see, and reason
to guide you ? As foe impossibilities, they do not
belong to the trade of a soldier, — he dare not see
them." Thus were energy and perseverance early

46 THE B0T8' TREA8URB8.

instilled into the minds of his children. They were
now called upon to give practical proofs of the pre-
cepts that had been taught them in childhood.
Hector trusted to his axe, and Louis to his couteau
cle chat^e and pocket-knife, — the latter was a present
from an old forest friend of his father's, who had
visited thcni the previous winter, and which, by good
hick, Louis had in his pocket, — a capacious pouch, in
which were stored many precious things, such as
coils of twine and string, strips of leather, with odds
and ends of various kinds — ^nails, bits of iron, leather,
and such miscellaneous articles as find their way most
mysteriously into boys' pockets in general, and Louis
Perron's in particular, who was a wonderful collector
of such small matters.

The children were not easily daunted by the
prospect of passing a few days abroad on so charming
a spot, and at such a lovely season, where fruits were
so abundant; and when they had finished their
morning meal, so providentially placed within their
reach, they gratefully acknowledged the mercy of
God in this thing.

Having refreshed themselves by bathing their
hands and faces in the lake, they cheerfully renewed
their wanderings, though something loath to leave the
cool shade and the spring for an untrodden path
among the hills and deep ravines that furrow the
shores of the Rice Lake in so remarkable a manner ;
and often did our weary wanderers pause to look
upon the wild glens and precipitous hills, where the
fawn and the shy deer found safe retreats, unharmed

IN THE VALLEY OF THE ROCK. 47

by the rifle of the hunter, where the osprey and
white-headed eagle built their nests, unheeded and
unharmed. Twice that day, misled by following the
track of the deer, had they returned to the same spot,
— a deep and lovely glen, which had once been a
watercourse, but was now a green and shady valley.
This they named the Valley of the Rock, from a re-
markable block of red granite that occupied a central
position in the narrow defile; and here they prepared
to pass their second night on the Plains. A few
boughs cut down and interlaced with the shrubs
round a small space cleared with Hector's axe, formed
shelter, and leaves and grass, strewed on the ground,
formed a bed — though not so smooth, perhaps, as the
bark and cedar boughs that the Indians spread
within their summer wigwams for carpets and
couches, or the fresh heather that the Highlanders
gather on the wild Scottish hills.

While Hector and Louis were preparing the sleep-
ing-chamber, Catharine busied herself in preparing
the partridge for their supper. Having collected
some thin peelings from the rugged bark of a birch
tree that grew on the side of the steep bank to which
she gave the appropriate name of the " Birken Shaw,"
she dried it in her bosom, and then beat it fine upon
a big stone, till it resembled the finest white paper.
This proved excellent tinder, the aromatic oil con-
tained in the bark of the birch being highly inflam-
mable. Hector had prudently retained the flint that
they had used in the morning, and a fire was now
lighted in front of the rocky stone, and a forked

48 PENSIONERS ON OOD's PROVIDENCE.

stick, stuck in the ground, and bent over the coals,
served as a spit, on which, gipsy-fashion, the partridge
was suspended, — a scanty meal, but thankfully par-
taken of, though they knew not how they should
breakfast next morning. The children felt they were
pensioners on God's providence not less than the wild
denizens of the wilderness around them.

When Hector — who by nature was less sanguine
than his sister or cousin — expressed some anxiety for
their provisions for the morrow, Catharine, who had
early listened with trusting piety of heart to the
teaching of her father, when he read portions from
the holy Word of God, gently laid her hand upon her
brother's head, which rested on her knees, as he sat
upon the grass beside her, and said, in a low and
earnest tone, " ' Consider the fowls of the air : they
sow not, neither do they reap, nor gather into bams ;
yet your heavenly Father feedeth them. Are ye not
much better than they ? * Surely, my brother, God
careth for us as much as for the wild creatures that
have no sense to praise and glorify his holy name.
God cares for the creatures he has made, and supplies
them with knowledge where they shall find food
when they hunger and thirst. So I have heard my
father say ; and surely our father knows, for is he
not a wise man, Hector ? "

"I remember," said Louis thoughtfully, "hearing
my mother repeat the words of a good old man she
knew when she lived in Quebec. ' When you are in
trouble, Mathilde,' he used to say to her, * kneel down
and ask God's help, nothing doubting but that he has

FAITH AND WORKS. 49

the power as well as the will to serve you, if it be for
your good ; for he is able to bring all things to pass.
It is our own want of faith that prevents our prayers
from being heard/ And, truly, I think the wise old
man was right," he added.

It was strange to hear grave words like these from
the lips of the giddy Louis. Possibly they had the
greater weight on that account. And Hector, look-
ing up with a serious air, replied, " Your mother's
friend was a good man, Louis. Our want of trust
in God s power must displease him. And when we
think of all the great and glorious things he has
made, — that blue sky, those sparkling stars, the
beautiful moon that is now shining down upon us,
and the hills and waters, the mighty forest, and little
creeping plants and flowers that grow at our feet, — it
must, indeed, seem foolish in his eyes that we should
doubt his power* to help us, who not only made all
these things but ourselves also."

" True," said Catharine ; " but then. Hector, we are
not as God made us; for the wicked one cast bad
seed in the field where God had sown the good."

" Let us, however, consider what we shall do for
food ; for you know God helps those that help them-
selves," said Louis. " Let us consider a little. There
must be plenty of fish in the lake, both small and
great."

" But how are we to get them out of it ? " rejoined
Catharine. " I doubt the fish will swim at their ease
there, while we go hungry."

" Do not interrupt me, ma chere. Then, we see the

(721) 4

50 FOREST DAINTIEa

track of deer, and the holes of the wood-chuck ; we
hear the cry of squirrels and chitmunks, and there
are plenty of partridges, and ducks, and quails, and
snipes ; — of course, we have to contrive some way to
kill them. Fruits there are in abundance, and plenty
of nuts of different kinds. At present we have plenty
of fine strawberries, and huckleberries will be ripe
soon in profusion, and bilberries top, and you know
how pleasant they are ; as for raspberries, I see none;
but by-and-by there will be May-apples (Podophyllum
peltatum) — I see great quantities of them in the low
grounds ; grapes, high-bush cranberries, haws as large
as cherries, and sweet too, squaw-berries, wild-plums,
choke-cherries, and bird-cherries. As to sweet acorns,
there will be bushels and bushels of them for the
roasting, as good as chestnuts, to my taste, and butter-
nuts, and hickory-nuts, with many other good things."
And here Louis stopped for want of breath to con-
tinue his catalogue of forest dainties.

" Yes; and there are bears, and wolves, and raccoons
too, that will eat us for want of better food," inter-
rupted Hector slyly. " Nay, Katty, do not shudder,
as if you were already in the clutches of a big bear.
Neither bear nor wolf shall make mincemeat of thee,
my girl, while Louis and thy brother are near to
wield an axe or a knife in thy defence."

"Nor catamount spring upon thee, ma belle cousine,"
added Louis gallantly, "while thy bold cousin Louis
can scare him away."

" Well, now that we know our resources, the next
thing is to consider how we are to obtain them, my

A PROVOKING BOT. 51

dears," said Catharine. " For fishing, you know, we
must have a hook and line, a rod, or a net. Now,
where are these to be met with ? "

Louis nodded his head sagaciously. " The line I
think I can provide ; the hook is more difficult, but I
do not despair even of that. As to the rod, it can be
cut from any slender sapling on the shore. A net,
ma chere, I could make with very little trouble, if I
had but a piece of cloth to sew over a hoop."

Catharine laughed. " You are very ingenious, no
doubt. Monsieur Louis ; but where are you to get the
cloth and the hoop, and the means of sewing it on ? "

Louis took up the comer of his cousin's apron with
a provoking look.

** My apron, sir, is not to be appropriated for any
such purpose. You seem to covet it for everything."

" Indeed, ma petite, I think it very ambecoming
and very ugly, and never could see any good reason
why you, and mamma, and Mathilde should wear
such frightful things."

" It is to keep our gowns clean, Louis, when we are
milking, and scrubbing, and doing all sorts of house-
hold duties," said Catharine.

"Well, ma belle, you have neither cows to milk
nor house to clean," replied the annoying boy ; " so
there can be little want of the apron. I could turn
it to fifty useful purposes."

"Pooh, nonsense," said Hector impatiently; "let
the child alone, and do not tease her about her
apron."

" Well, then, there is another good thing I did not

52 MATERIAL FOR FISniNO-LINBS.

think of before — water muasels. I have heard my
father and old Jacob the lumberer say that, roasted
in their shells in the ashes, with a seasoning of salt
and pepper, they are good eating when nothing better
is to be got."

" No doubt, if the seasoning can be procured,'* said
Hector ; " but, alas for the salt and the pepper ! "

** Well, we can eat them with the best of all sauces
— hunger. And then, no doubt, there are crayfish in
the gravel under the stones; but we must not mind a
pinch to our fingers in taking them."

" To-morrow, then, let us breakfast on fish," said
Hector. " You and I will try our luck, while Kate
gathers strawberries ; and if our line should break,
we can easily cut those long locks from Catharine's
head and twist them into lines." And Hector laid
his hands upon the long fair hair that hung in shin-
ing curls about his sister s neck.

" Cut my curls ! This is even worse than cousin
Louis's proposal of making tinder and fishing-nets of
my apron," said Catharine, shaking back the bright
tresses which, escaping from the snood that bound
them, fell in golden waves over her shoulders.

" In truth, Hec, it were a sin and a shame to cut
her pretty curls, that become her so well," said Louis.
" But we have no scissors, ma belle, so you need fear
no injury to your precious locks."

" For the matter of that, Louis, we could cut them
with your couteau de chasse, I could tell you a
story that my father told me, not long since, of
Charles Stuart, the second king of that name in Eng-

hector's story. 53

land. You know he was the granduncle of the young
chevalier, 'Charles Edward, that my father talks of,
and loves so much."

" I know all about him," said Catharine, nodding
sagaciously ; *' let us hear the story of his granduncle.
But I should like to know what my hair and Louis's
knife can have to do with King Charles.'*

" Wait a bit, Kate, and you shall hear — that is, if
you have patience," said her brother. " Well then,
you must know, that after some great battle, the
name of which I forget,* in which the king and his
handful of brave soldiers were defeated by the forces
of the Parliament (the Roundheads, as they were
called), the poor young king was hunted like a part-
ridge upon the mountains ; a large price was set on
his head, to be given to any traitor who should slay
him or bring him prisoner to Oliver Cromwell. He
was obliged to dress himself in all sorts of queer
clothes, and hide in all manner of strange, out-of-the-
way places, and keep company with rude and humble
men, the better to hide his real rank from the cruel
enemies that sought his life. Once he hid along with
a gallant gentleman,"(- one of his own brave officers,
in the branches of a great oak. Once he was hid in
a mill ; and another time he was in the house of one
Pendril, a woodman. The soldiers of the Parliament,
who were always prowling about, and popping in
unawares wherever they suspected the poor king to
be hidden, were at one time in the very room where
he was standing beside the fire."

" Battle of Worcester. t Colonel Careless.

54 hector's story.

" Oh ! ** exclaimed Catharine, " that was f rightfuL
And did they take him prisoner ? "

"No; for the wise woodman and his brothers,
fearing lest the soldiers should discover that he was
a cavalier and a gentleman, by the long curls that the
king's men all wore in those days, and called love-
locks, begged of his majesty to let his hair be cropped
close to his head."

" That was very hard, to lose his nice curls."

" I dare say the young king thought so too ; but it
was better to lose his hair than his head. So, I sup-
pose, the men told him; for he suffered them to cut it
all close to his head, laying down his head on a rough
deal table, or a chopping-block, while his faithful
friends with a large knife trimmed off the curls."

"I wonder if the young king thought at that
minute of his poor father, who, you know, was forced
by wicked men to lay down his head upon a block
to have it cut from his shoulders, because Cromwell,
and others as hard-hearted as himself, willed that he
should die."

"Poor king!" said Catharine, sighing; "I see that
it is better to be poor children, wandering on these
plains under God's own care, than to be kings and
princes at the mercy of bad and sinful men."

" Who told your father all these things, Hec ? " said
Louis.

" It was the son of his brave colonel, who knew a
great deal about the history of the Stuart kings ; for
our colonel had been with Prince Charles, the young
chevalier, and fought by his side when he was in

hector's story. 55

Scotland. He loved him dearly, and after the battle
of CuUoden, where the prince lost all, and was driven
from place to place, and had not where to lay his
head, he went abroad in hopes of better times. But
those times did not come for the poor prince ; and
our colonel, after a while, through the friendship of
General Wolfe, got a commission in the army that
was embarking for Quebec, and at last commanded
the regiment to which my father belonged. He was
a kind man, and my father loved both him and his
son, and grieved not a little when he parted from
him."

" Well," said Catharine, " as you have told me such
a nice story. Mister Hec, I shall forgive the aflfront
about my curls."

" Well, then, to-morrow we are to try our luck at
fishing, and if we fail, we will make us bows and
arrows to kill deer or small game ; I fancy we shall
not be over-particular as to its quality. Why should
not we be able to find subsistence as well as the wild
Indians ? "

"True," said Hector; "the wild men of the wilder-
ness, and the animals and birds, all are fed by the
things that He provideth; then wherefore should
His white children fear ? "

" I have often heard my father tell of the priva-
tions of the lumberers, when they have fallen short
of provisions, and of the contrivances of himself and
old Jacob Morelle when they were lost for several
days, nay, weeks I believe it was. Like the Indians,
they made themselves bows and arrows, using the

56 Louis's story.

sinews of the deer, or fresh thongs of leather, for
bow-strings ; and when they could not get game to
cat, they boiled the inner bark of the slippery elm to
jelly, or birch bark, and drank the sap of the sugar
maple when they could get no water but melted
snow only, which is unwholesome : at last they even
boiled their own moccasins."

" Indeed, Louis, that must have been a very un-
savoury dish," said Catharine.

"That old buck-skin vest would have made a
famous pot of soup of itself," added Hector, " or the
deer-skin hunting shirt."

" They might have been reduced even to that," said
Louis, laughing, " but for the good fortune that befell
them in the way of a half -roasted bear."

"Nonsense, Cousin Louis; bears do not run about
ready roasted in the forest, like the lambs in the old
nursery tale."

" Kate, this was a fact ; at least it was told as one
by old Jacob, and my father did not deny it. Shall I
tell you about it ? After passing several hungry days,
with no better food to keep them alive than the
scrapings of the inner bark of the poplars and elms,
which was not very substantial for hearty men, they
encamped one night in a thick dark swamp, — not the
sort of place they would have chosen, but they could
not help themselves, having been enticed into it by
the tracks of a deer or a moose, — and night came
upon them unawares, so they set to work to kindle a
fire with spunk, and a flint and knife ; rifle they had
none, or maybe they would have had game to eat

LOUISAS STORY. 57

Old Jacob fixed upon a huge hollow pine that lay
across their path, against which he soon piled a
glorious heap of boughs and arms of trees, and what-
ever wood he could collect, and lighted up a fine fire.
The wood was dry pine and cedar and birch, and it
blazed away, and crackled and burned like a pine-
torch. By-and-by they heard a most awful growling
close to them. ' That's a big bear, as I live,* said
old Jacob, looking all about, thinking to see one
come out from the thick bush. But Bruin was nearer
to him than he thought ; for presently a great black
bear burst out from the butt-end of the great burn-
ing log, and made towards Jacob. Just then the wind
blew the flame outward, and it caught the bears
thick coat, and he was all in a blaze in a moment.
No doubt the heat of the fire had penetrated to the
hollow of the log, where he had lain himself snugly
up for the winter, and wakened him. Jacob seeing
the huge black brute all in a flame of fire, roared
with fright; the bear roared with pain and rage; and
my father roared with laughing to see Jacob's terror.
But he did not let the bear laugh at him, for he seized
a thick pole that he had used for closing in the
brands and logs, and soon demolished the bear, who
was so blinded with the fire and smoke that he made
no fight; and they feasted on roast bear's flesh for
many days, and got a capital skin to cover them beside."

" What, Louis ! after the fur was all singed ? " said
Catharine.

" Kate, you are too particular," said Louis; "a story
never loses, you know."

58 A SCANTY MEAL.

Hector laughed heartily at the adventure, and en-
joyed tlic dilemma of the bear in his winter quarters;
but Catharine was somewhat shocked at the levity
displayed by her cousin and brother when recounting
the terror of old Jacob and the sufferings of the poor
bear."

"You boys are always so unfeeling," she said
gravely.

" Indeed, ICatc," said her brother, " the day may
come when the sight of a good piece of roast bear's
flesh will be no unwelcome sight. If we do not find
our way back to Cold Springs before the winter sets
in, we may be reduced to as bad a state as poor Jacob
and my uncle were in the pine swamps on the banks
of the St. John."

" Ah ! " said Catharine, trembling, " that would be
too bad to happen."

"Courage, ma belle; let us not despair for the
morrow. Let us see what to-morrow will do for us ;
meantime, we will not neglect the blessings we still
possess. See, our partridge is ready ; let us eat our
supper, and be thankful ; and for grace let us say,
' Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.' "

Long exposure to the air had sharpened their
appetites. The hungry wanderers needed no further
invitation. The scanty meal, equally divided, was soon
despatched.

It is a common saying, but excellent to be remem-
bered by any wanderers in our forest wilds, that
those who travel by the sun travel in a circle, and
usually find themselves at night in the same place

A BITTER DISAPPOINTMENT. 59

from whence they started in the morning ; so it was
with our wanderers. At sunset they found themselves
once more in the ravine, beside the big stone, in
which they had rested at noon. They had imagined
themselves miles distant from it : they were griev-
ously disappointed. They had encouraged each
other with the confident hope that they were draw-
ing near to the end of their bewildering journey:
they were as far from their home as ever, without
the slightest clue to guide them to the right path.
Despair is not a feeling which takes deep root in the
youthful breast. The young are always hopeful ; so
confident in their own wisdom and skill in averting
or conquering danger ; so trusting ; so willing to be-
lieve that there is a peculiar Providence watching
over them. Poor children ! they had indeed need of
such a belief to strengthen their minds and encourage
them to fresh exertions, for new trials were at hand.
The broad moon had already flooded the recesses
of the glen with light, and all looked fresh and
lovely in the dew which glittered on tree and leaf,
on herb and flower. Catharine, who, though weary
with her fatiguing wanderings, could not sleep, left
the little hut of boughs her companions had put up
near the granite rock in the valley for her accommoda-
tion, and ascended the western bank, where the last
jutting spur of its steep side formed a lofty cliff-like
promontory, at the extreme verge of which the roots
of one tall spreading oak formed a most inviting seat,
from whence the traveller looked down into a level
tract, which stretched away to the edge of the lake.

60 AN APPARITION.

This flat had been tlie estuary of the mountain
stream which had once rushed down between the
hills, forming a narrow gorge; but now all was
changed : the waters had ceased to flow, the granite
bed was overgrown and carpeted with deer-grass and
flowers of many hues, wild fruits and bushes, below,
while majestic oaks and pines towered above. A sea
of glittering foliage lay beneath Catharine s feet ; in
the distance the eye of the young girl rested on a
belt of shining waters, which girt in the shores Kke
a silver zone ; beyond, yet more remote to the north-
ward, stretched the illimitable forest.

Never had Catharine looked upon a scene so still
or so fair to the eye ; a holy calm seemed to shed its
influence over her young mind, and peaceful tears
stole down her cheeks. Not a sound was there
abroad, scarcely a leaf stirred ; she could have stayed
for hours there gazing on the calm beauty of nature,
and communing with her own heart, when suddenly
a stirring rustling sound caught her ear; it came
from a hollow channel on one side of the promontory,
which was thickly overgrown with the shrubby dog-
wood, wild roses, and bilberry bushes. Imagine the
terror which seized the poor girl on perceiving the
head of a black elk breaking through the covert of
the bushes. With a scream and a bound, which the
most deadly fear alone could have inspired, Catharine
sprung from the supporting trunk of the oak, and
dashed down the precipitous side of the ravine; now
clinging to the bending sprays of the flexile dogwood,
now to some fragile birch or poplar — now trusting to

oathabine's terror and mishap. 61

the yielding heads of the sweet-scented ceanothus, or
filling her hands with sharp thorns from the roses
that clothed the bank, — flowers, grass, all were alike
clutched at in her rapid and fearful descent.

A loose fragment of granite on which she had un-
wittingly placed her foot rolled from under her ; un-
able to regain her balance she fell forwards, and was
precipitated through the bushes into the ravine below,
conscious only of unspeakable terror and an agoniz-
ing pain in one of her ankles which rendered her
quite powerless. The noise of the stones she had
dislodged in her fall, and her piteous cries, brought
Louis and Hector to her side, and they bore her in
their arms to the hut of boughs, and laid her down
upon her bed of leaves and grass and young pine
boughs. When Catharine was able to speak, she
related to Louis and Hector the cause of her fright.
She was sure it must have been a wolf by his sharp
teeth, long jaws, and grizzly coat. The last glance
she had had of him had filled her with terror ; he was
standing on a fallen tree, with his eyes fixed upon
her. She could tell them no more that happened;
she never felt the ground she was on, so great was
her fright.

Hector was half disposed to scold his sister for
rambling over the hills alone ; but Louis was full of
tender compassion for la belle cotusine, and would not
suffer her to be chidden. Fortunately, no bones had
been fractured, though the sinews of her ankle were
severely sprained; but the pain was intense, and
after a sleepless night, the boys found, to their grief

62 THE WAXDERERS DETAINED.

and dismay, that Catharine was unable to put her
foot to the ground. This was an unlooked-for aggra>
vation of their misfortunes ; to pursue their wander-
ings was for the present impossible ; rest was their
only remedy, excepting the application of such cool-
ing medicaments as circumstances would supply them
with. Cold water constantly applied to the swollen
joint, was the first thing that was suggested ; but,
simple as was the lotion, it was not easy to obtain it
in sufficient quantities. They were full a quarter of
a mile from the lake shore, and the cold springs near
it were yet further off*; and then the only vessel
they had was the tin pot, which hardly contained a
pint; at the same time the thirst of the fevered
sufferer was intolerable, and had also to be provided
for. Poor Catharine, what imexpected misery she
now endured !

The valley and its neighbouring hills abounded in
strawberries ; they were now ripening in abundance ;
the ground was scarlet in places with this delicioas
fruit; they proved a blessed relief to the poor
sufferer's burning thirst. Hector and Louis were
unwearied in supplying her with them.

Louis, ever fertile in expedients, crushed the cool-
ing fruit and applied them to the sprained foot;
rendering the application still more grateful by
spreading them upon the large smooth leaves of the
sapling oak : these he bound on with strips of the
leathery bark of the moose-wood,* which he had

* " Dirca paliMtris" moose-wood. American mezereon, leather- wood. From
the Greek, dirkat a fountain or wet place, its usual place of growth.

GOOD KEWB. 63

found growing in great abundance near the entrance
of the ravine. Hector, in the meantime, was not
idle. After having collected a good supply of ripe
strawberries, he climbed the hills in search of birds'
eggs and small game. About noon he returned with
the good news of having discovered a spring of fine
water in an adjoining ravine, beneath a clump of
bass-wood and black cherry trees ; he had also been
so fortunate as to kill a woodchuck, having met with
many of their burrows in the gravelly sides of the
hills. The woodchuck seems to be a link between
the rabbit and badger ; its colour is that of a leveret;
it climbs like the raccoon, and burrows like the
rabbit; its eyes are large, full, and dark, the lip
cleft, the soles of the feet naked, claws sharp, ears
short ; it feeds on grasses, grain, fruit, and berries.
The flesh is white, oily, and, in the summer, rank,
but is eaten in autumn by the Indians and woods-
men ; the skin is not much valued. They are easily
killed by dogs, though, being expert climbers, they
often baffle their enemies, clinging to the bark
beyond their reach. A stone or stick well aimed soon
kills them ; but they sometimes bite sharply.

The woodchuck proved a providential supply ; and
Hector cheered his companions with the assurance
that they could not starve, as there were plenty of
these creatures to be found. They had seen one or
two about Cold Springs, but they are less common
in the deep forest lands than on the drier, more open
plains.

" It is a great pity we have no larger vessel to

64 MAKING A WATER-JAR.

bring our water from the spring," said Hector, look-
ing at the tin pot ; '' one is so apt to stumble among
stones and tangled underwood. If we had only one
of our old bark dishes we could get a good supply at
once."

** There is a fallen birch not far from this," said
Louis. " I have here my trusty knife ; what is there
to hinder us from constructing a vessel capable of
holding water, a gallon if you like ?"

" How can you sew it together, cousin ?" asked
Catharine; "you have neither deer sinews nor
war-tap." The Indian name for the flexible roots
of the tamaracky or swamp larch, which they make
use of in manufacturing their birch baskets and
canoes.

" I have a substitute at hand, ma belle;" and Louis
pointed to the strips of leather- wood he had collected
for binding the dressings on her foot.

When an idea once struck Louis, he never rested
till he worked it out in some way. In a few minutes
he was busily employed, stripping sheets of the ever-
useful birch-bark from the birch tree that had fallen
at the foot of the " Wolfs Crag;" for so the children
had named the memorable spot where poor Catha-
rine's accident had occurred.

The rough outside coatings of the bark, which are
of silvery whiteness, but ragged from exposure to
the action of the weather in the larger and older
trees, he peeled off, and then cutting the bark so
that the sides lapped well over and the comers were
secured from cracks, he proceeded to pierce holes

VOLATILE LOUIS. 65

opposite to each other, and with some trouble man«
aged to stitch them tightly together, by drawing
strips of the moose or leather-wood through and
through. The first attempt, of course, was but rude
and ill-shaped, but it answered the purpose, and only
leaked a little at the comers for want of a sort of
flap, which he had forgotten to allow in cutting out
the bark, — this flap in the Indian baskets and dishes
turns up, and keeps all tight and close, — a defect he
remedied in his subsequent attempts. In spite of its
deficiencies, Louis's water-jar was looked upon with
great admiration, and highly commended by Catharine,
who almost forgot her sufferings while watching her
cousin's proceedings.

Louis was elated by his own successful ingenuity,
and was for running off* directly to the spring.
*' Catharine shall now have cold water to bathe her
poor ankle with, and to quench her thirst," he said,
joyfully springing to his feet, ready for a start up
the steep bank ; but Hector quietly restrained his
lively cousin, by suggesting the possibility of his
not finding the "fountain in the wilderness," aa
Louis termed the spring, or losing himself alto-
gether.

"Let us both go together then," cried Louis.
Catharine cast on her cousin an imploring glance.

" Do not leave me, dear Louis — ^Hector, do not let
me be left alone." Her sorrowful appeal stayed the
steps of the volatile Louis.

" Go you. Hector, as you know the way. — I will

not leave you, Kate, since I was the cause of all you
(721) 5

66 THE VALLEY OF THE FOUNTAIN.

have suffered; I will abide by you, in joy or in
sorrow, till I see you once more safe in your own
dear mother s arms."

Comforted by this assurance, Catharine quickly
dashed away the gathering tears from her cheeks,
and chid her own foolish fears.

" But you know, dear cousin," she said, " I am so
helpless ; and then the dread of that horrible wolf
makes a coward of me."

After some little time had elapsed, Hector re-
turned. The bark vessel had done its duty to admi-
ration ; it only wanted a very little improvement to
make it complete. The water was cold and pure.
Hector had spent a little time in deepening the
mouth of the spring, and placing some stones about
it. He described the ravine as being much deeper
and wider and more gloomy than the one they
occupied. The sides and bottom were clothed with
magnificent oaks. It was a grand sight, he said, to
stand on the jutting spurs of this great ravine, and
look down upon the tops of the trees that lay below,
tossing their rounded heads like the waves of a big
sea. There were many lovely flowers — vetches of
several kinds, blue, white, and pencilled, twining
among the grass ; a beautiful white-belled flower,
that was like the " morning glory " {Convolvulus
major), and scarlet cups* in abundance, with roses
in profusion. The bottom of this ravine was strewed
in places with huge blocks of black granite, cushioned
with thick green moss; it opened out into a wide

* Erichroma, or painted-cup.

PANGS OF HUNGER. 67

flat, similar to the one at the mouth of the valley of
the " Big Stone."

Both Hector and his sister had irsensibly imbibed
a love of the grand and picturesque, by listening with
untiring interest to their father s animated and en-
thusiastic descriptions of his Highland home, and
the wild mountainous scenery that surrounded it.
Though brought up in solitude and uneducated,
there was nothing vulgar or rude in the minds or
manners of these young people. Simple and un-
taught they were, but they were guileless, earnest,
and unsophisticated ; and if they lacked the knowl-
edge that is learned from books, they possessed much
that was useful and practical, which had been taught
by experience and observation in the school of
necessity.

For several days the pain and fever arising from
her sprain rendered any attempt at removing
Catharine from the valley of the " Big Stone "
impracticable. The ripe fruit began to grow less
abundant in their immediate vicinity ; neither wood-
chuck, partridge, nor squirrel had been killed ; and
our poor wanderers now endured the agonizing pains
of hunger. Continual exposure to the air by night
and by day contributed not a little to increase the
desire for food. It is true, there was the yet untried
lake, " bright, boundless, and free," gleaming in
silvery splendour; but in practice they knew nothing
of the fisher s craft, though, as a matter of report,
they were well acquainted with its mysteries, and
had often listened with delight to the feats performed

68 FISHINO-TACKLB WANTED.

by their respective fathers in the art of angling,
spearing, and netting.

" I have heard my father say that so bold and
numerous were the fish in the lakes and rivers he
used to fish in, that they could be taken by the hand
with a crooked pin and coarse thread, or wooden
spear ; but that was in the Lower Province. And oh,
what glorious tales I have heard him tell of spearing
fish by torchlight ! "

" The fish may be wiser or not so numerous in this
lake," said Hector ; " however, if Kate can bear to be
moved, we will go down to the shore and try our
luck. But what can we do ? we have neither hook
nor line provided."

Louis nodded his head, and sitting down on a pro-
jecting root of a scrub oak, produced from the depths
of his capacious pocket a bit of tin, which he care-
fully selected from among a miscellaneous hoard of
treasures. "Here," said he, holding it up to the
view as he spoke, — " here is the slide of an old
powder-flask, which I picked up from among some
rubbish my sister had thrown out the other day."

"I fear you will make nothing of that," said
Hector ; " a bit of bone would be better. If you had
a file now, you might do something."

" Stay a moment, Monsieur Hec ; what do you call
this?" and Louis triumphantly handed out of his
pocket the very instrument in question, a few inches
of a broken, rusty file ; very rusty, indeed, it was,
but still it might be made to answer in such ingeni-
ous hands as those of our young French Canadian.

GOIKQ DOWN TO THE LAKE. 69

"I well remember, Eatty, how you and Mathilde
laughed at me for treasuring up this old thing
months ago. — ^Ah, Louis, Louis, you little knew the
use it was to be put to then,*' he added thoughtfully,
apostrophizing himself ; " how little do we know
what is to befall us in our young days !"

" God knows it all," said Hector gravely; " we are
Tinder his good guidance."

" You are right, Hee ; let us trust in his mercy, and
he will take good care of ils. Come, let us go to the
lake," Catharine added, and she sprang to her feet, but
as quickly sank down upon the grass, and regarded
her companions with a piteous look, saying, " I can-
not walk one step ; alas, alas ! what is to become of
me ? I am only a useless burden to you. If you leave
me here I shall fall a prey to some savage beast ; and
you cannot carry me with you in your search for
food."

** Dry your tears, sweet cousin ; you shall go with
us. Do you think that Hector or Louis would
abandon you in your helpless state, to die of hunger
or thirst, or to be torn by wolves or bears? We
will carry you by turns ; the distance to the lake is
nothing, and you are not so very heavy, ma belle
cousine; see, I could dance with you in my arms,
you are so light a burden," — and Louis gaily caught
the suffering girl up in his arms, and with rapid
steps struck into the deer-path that wound through
the ravine towards the lake. But when they reached
a pretty, rounded knoll (where Wolf Tower now
stands), Louis was fain to place his cousin on a flat

70 ON THE SHORE OF THE LAKE.

stone beneath a big oak that grew beside the bank,
and fling himself on the flowery ground at her feet,
while he drew a long breath, and gathered the fruit
that grew among the long grass to refresh himself
after his fatigue. And then, while resting on the
" Elfin Knowe," as Catharine called the hill, he
employed himself with manufacturing a rude sort of
a fish-hook, with the aid of his knife, the bit of tin,
and the rusty file. A bit of twine was next pro-
duced: boys have always a bit of string in their
pockets ; and Louis, as I have before hinted, was a
provident hoarder of such small matters. The string
was soon attached to the hook, and Hector was not
long in cutting a sapling that answered well the
purpose of a fishing-rod; and thus equipped they
proceeded to the lake shore, Hector and Louis carry-
ing the crippled Catharine by turns. When there,
they selected a sheltered spot beneath a grove of
overhanging cedars and birches, festooned with wild
vines, which, closely woven, formed a natural bower,
quite impervious to the rays of the sun. A waterfall
dashing from the upper part of the bank fell head-
long in spray and foam, and quietly spread itself
among the round shingly fragments that formed the
beach of the lake. Beneath this pleasant bower
Catharine could repose and watch her companions at
their novel employment, or bathe her feet and infirm
ankle in the cool streamlet that rippled in tiny wave-
lets over its stony bed.

If the amusement of fishing prove pleasant and
exciting when pursued for pastime only, it may

A PLENTIFUL REPAST. 71

readily be conceived that its interest must be greatly
heightened when its object is satisfying a craving
degree of hunger. Among the sunny spots on the
shore, innumerable swarms of the flying grasshopper
or field crickets were sporting, and one of these proved
an attraiCtive bait. The line was no sooner cast into
the water than the hook was seized, and many were
the brilliant specimens of sun-fish that our eager
fishermen cast at Catharine's feet, all gleaming with
gold and azure scales. Nor was there any lack of
perch, or that delicate fish commonly known in these
waters as the pink roach.

Tired at last with their easy sport, the hungry boys
next proceeded to the grateful task of scaling and
dressing their fish. This they did very expeditiously,
as soon as the more difficult part of kindling a fire on
the beach had been accomplished with the help of the
flint, knife, and dried rushes. The fish were then
suspended, Indian fashion, on forked sticks stuck in
the ground and inclined at a suitable angle towards
the glowing embers, — a few minutes sufficed to cook
them.

" Truly," said Catharine, when the plentiful repast
was set before her, " God hath, indeed, spread a table
for us here in the wilderness;" so miraculous did
this ample supply of delicious food seem in the eyes
of this simple child of nature.

They had ofteu heard tell of the facility with which
the fish could be caught, but they had known nothing
of it from their own experience, as the streams and
creeks about Cold Springs afforded them but little

72 HUMBLE AND HOLT ASPIRATIONS.

opportunity for exercising their skill as anglers ; so
that, with the rude implements with which they were
furnished, the result of their morning success seemed
little short of divine interference in their behalf.
Happy and contented in the belief that they were
not forgotten by their heavenly Father, these poor
"children in the wood" looked up with gratitude to
that beneficent Being who suffereth not even a
sparrow to fall unheeded.

Upon Catharine, in particular, these things made a
deep impression ; and there, as she sat in the green
shade, soothed by the lulling sound of the flowing
waters, and the soft murmuring of the many -coloured
insects that hovered among the fragrant leaves which
thatched her sylvan bower, her yoimg heart was
raised in humble and holy aspirations to the great
Creator of all things living. A peaceful calm dif-
fused itself over her mind, as with hands meekly
folded across her breast, the young girl prayed with
the guileless fervour of a trusting and faithful
heart.

The sun was just sinking in a flood of glory behind
the dark pine- woods at the head of the lake, when
Hector and Louis, who had been carefully providing
fish for the morrow (which was the Sabbath), came
loaded with their finny prey carefully strung upon a
willow-wand, and found Catharine sleeping in her
bower. Louis was loath to break her tranquil slumbers,
but her careful brother reminded him of the danger
to which she was exposed, sleeping in the dew by the
water-side. "Moreover,** he added, "we have some

A TOILSOME MARCH. 73

distance to go, and we have left the precious axe and
the birch-bark vessel in the valley."

These things were too valuable to be lost, so they
roused the sleeper, and slowly recommenced their
toilsome way, following the same path that they had
made in the morning. Fortimately, Hector had
taken the precaution to bend down the flexile
branches of the dogwood and break the tops of the
young trees that they had passed between on their
route to the lake; and by this clue they were enabled
with tolerable certainty to retrace their way, nothing
doubting of arriving in time at the wigwam of boughs
by the rock in the valley.

Their progress was, however, slow, burdened with
the care of the lame girl, and laden with the fish.
The purple shades of twilight soon clouded the scene,
deepened by the heavy masses of foliage, which cast
greater obscurity upon their narrow path ; for they
had now left the oak-flat and entered the gorge of
the valley. The utter loneliness of the path, the
grotesque shadows of the trees that stretched in long
array across the steep banks on either side, taking
now this, now that wild and fanciful shape, awakened
strange feelings of dread in the mind of these poor
forlorn wanderers; like most persons bred up in soli-
tude, their imaginations were strongly tinctured
with superstitious fears. Here, then, in the lonely
wilderness, far from their beloved parents and social
hearth, with no visible arm to protect them from
danger, none to encourage or to cheer them, they
started with terror-blanched cheeks at every fitful

74 SUPERSTITIOUS FEAB&

breeze that rustled the leaves or waved the branches
above them.

The gay and lively Louis, blithe as any wild bird
in the bright sunlight, was the most easily oppressed
by this strange superstitious fear, when the shades of
evening were closing round, and he would start with
ill-disguised terror at every sound or shape that met
his ear or eye, though the next minute he was the
first to laugh at his own weakness. In Hector the
feeling was of a graver, more solemn cast, recalling
to his mind all the wild and wondrous tales with
which his father was wont to entertain the children
as they crouched roimd the huge log-fire of an even-
ing. It is strange the charm these marvellous tales
possess for the youthful mind: no matter how improb-
able or how often told, year after year they will be
listened to with the same ardour, with an interest
that appears to grow with repetition. And still, as
they slowly wandered along. Hector would repeat to
his breathless auditors those Highland legends that
were as familiar to their ears as household words; and
still they listened with fear and wonder, and deep
awe, till at each pause he made the deep-drawn
breath and half -repressed shudder might be heard.
And now the little party paused irresolutely, fearing
to proceed: they had omitted to notice some land-
mark in their progress ; the moon had not long been
up, and her light was as yet indistinct ; so they sat
them down on a little grassy spot on the bank, and
rested till the moon should lighten their path.

Louis was confident they were not far from the

" THE WOLF ! THE WOLF 1 ' 75

*' Big Stone," but careful Hector had his doubts, and
Catharine was weary. The children had already
conceived a sort of home feeling for the valley and
the mass of stone that had sheltered them for so
many nights ; and soon the dark mass came in sight,
as the broad full light of the now risen moon fell
upon its rugged sides : they were nearer to it than
they had imagined.

"Forward for the 'Big Stone* and the wigwam,*'
cried Louis.

" Hush ! " said Catharine, " look there ! " raising her
hand with a warning gesture.

"Where? what?'*

"The wolf! the wolf!** gasped out the terrified
girl. There, indeed, upon the summit of the block,
in the attitude of a sentinel or watcher, stood the
gaunt-figured animal ; and as she spoke, a long wild
cry, the soimd of which seemed as if it came midway
between the earth and the tops of the tall pines on
the lofty ridge above them, struck terror into their
hearts, as with speechless horror they gazed upon the
dark outline of the terrible beast. There it stood,
with its head raised, its neck stretched outward, and
ears erect, as if to catch the echo that gave back
those dismal sounds; another minute and he was
gone to join his companions, and the crashing of
branches and the rush of many feet on the high bank
above was followed by the prolonged cry of a poor
fugitive animal, — a doe, or fawn, perhaps, — ^in the
very climax of mortal agony; and then the lonely
recesses of the forest took up that fearful death-cry,

76

T DELIVERANCE.

the far-off shores of the lake and the distant islands
prolonged it, and the terrified children clung ti<^ther
in fear and trembling.

A few minutes over, and all was still. The chase
had turned across the hills to some distant ravine ;

the wolves were all gone — not even the watcher was
left ; and the little valley lay once more in silence,
with all its dewy roses and sweet blossoms glittering
in the moonlight. But though around them all wa.s
peace and loveliness, it was long ere confidence was
restored to the hearts of the panic-stricken and

A LONG AND PAINFUL YIOIL. 77

trembling children. They beheld a savage enemy in
every mass of leafy shade, and every rustling bough
struck fresh terror into their excited minds. They
might have exclaimed, with the patriarch Jacob,
" How dreadful is this place ! "

With hand clasped in hand, they sat them down
among the thick covert of the bushes ; for now they
feared to move forward, lest the wolves should return.
Sleep was long a stranger to their watchful eyes, each
fearing to be the only one left awake, and long and
painful was their vigil. Yet nature, overtasked, at
length gave way, and sleep came down upon their
eyelids — deep, unbroken sleep, which lasted till the
broad sunlight, breaking through the leafy curtains
of their forest-bed, and the soimd of waving boughs
and twittering birds, once more awakened them to
life and light, recalling them from happy dreams of
home and friends to an aching sense of loneliness and
desolation. This day they did not wander far from
the valley, but took the precaution, as evening drew
on, to light a large fire, the blaze of which they
thought would keep away any beast of prey. They
had no want of food, as the fish they had caught the
day before proved an ample supply. The huckle-
berries were ripening too, and soon afforded them a
never-failing source of food; there was also an
abundance of bilberries, the sweet fruit of which
proved a great treat, besides being very nourishing.

CHAPTER III

" Oh for a lodge in the vast wilderness,
The boundless contiguity of shade!'*

FORTNIGHT had now passed, and Cath-
arine still suffered so much from pain and
fever that they were unable to continue
their wanderings; all that Hector and his
cousin could do was to carry her to the bower by the
lake, where she reclined whilst they caught fish. The
painful longing to regain their lost home had lost
nothing of its intensity ; and often would the poor
sufferer start from her bed of leaves and boughs to
wring her hands and weep, and call in piteous tones
upon that dear father and mother who would have
given worlds, had they been at their command, to
have heard but one accent of her beloved voice, to
have felt one loving pressure from that fevered hand.
Hope, the consoler, hovered over the path of the
yoimg wanderers, long after she had ceased to
whisper comfort to the desolate hearts of the mourn-
ful parents.

Of all that suffered by this sad calamity, no one
was more to be pitied than Louis Perron. Deeply
did the poor boy lament the thoughtless folly which

THE POLLY OP YOUTH. 79

had involved his cousin Catharine in so terrible a
misfortune. "If Kate had not been with me," he
would say, " we should not have been lost ; for
Hector is so cautious and so careful, he would not
have left the cattle-path. But we were so heedless,
we thought only of flowers and insects, of birds and
such trifles, and paid no heed to our way." Louis
Perron, such is life. The yoimg press gaily onward,
gathering the flowers, and following the gay butter-
flies that attract them in the form of pleasure and
amusement: they forget the grave counsels of the
thoughtful, till they find the path they have followed
is beset with briers and thorns; and a thousand
painful difficulties that were unseen, unexpected,
overwhelm and bring them to a sad sense of their
own folly; and, perhaps, the punishment of their
errors does not fall upon themselves alone, but upon
the innocent, who have unknowingly been made
participators in their fault.

By the kindest and tenderest attention to all her
comforts, Louis endeavoured to alleviate his cousin's
sufferings, and soften her regrets; nay, he would
often speak cheerfully and even gaily to her, when
his own heart was heavy and his eyes ready to over-
flow with tears.

" If it were not for our dear parents and the dear
children at home," he would say, " we might spend
our time most happily upon these charming plains ;
it is much more delightful here than in the dark,
thick woods; see how brightly the sunbeams come
down and gladden the ground, and cover the earth

80 A PLEASANT PICTURE.

with fruit and flowers. It is pleasant to be able to
fish and hunt, and trap the game. Yes, if they were
all here, we would build us a nice log-house, and clear
up these bushes on the flat near the lake. This
* Elfin Knowe,' as you call it, Kate, would be a nice
spot to build upon. See these glorious old oaks — ^not
one should be cut down ; and we would have a boat
and a canoe, and voyage across to yonder islands.
Would it not be charming, ma belle ? " and Catharine,
smiling at the picture drawn so eloquently, would
enter into the spirit of the project, and say, —

" Ah ! Louis, that would be pleasant."

'* If we had but my father's rifle now," said Hector,
« and old Wolfe."

"Yes, and Fanchette, dear little Fanchette, that
trees the partridges and black squirrels," said
Louis.

" I saw a doe and a half -grown fawn beside her this
very morning, at break of day," said Hector. " The
fawn was so little fearful, that if I had had a stick
in my hand I could have killed it. I came within
ten yards of the spot where it stood. I know it
would be easy to catch one by making a dead-fall."
A sort of trap in which game is taken in the woods,
or on the banks of creeks.

" If we had but a dear fawn to frolic about us, like
Mignon, dear innocent Mignon," cried Catharine, " 1
should never feel lonely then."

" And we should never want for meat, if we could
catch a fine fawn from time to time, ma belle. — Hec,
what are you thinking of ? "

\

LOOKING FORWARD. 81

" I was thinking, Louis, that if we were doomed to
remain here all our lives, we must build a house for
ourselves ; we could not live in the open air without
shelter as we have done. The summer will soon
pass, and the rainy season will come, and the bitter
frosts and snows of winter will have to be provided
against."

" But, Hector, do you really think there is no chance
of finding our way back to Cold Springs ? We know
it must be behind this lake," said Louis.

" True, but whether east, west, or south, we cannot
tell, and whichever way we take now is but a chance ;
and if once we leave the lake and get involved in the
mazes of that dark forest, we should perish : for we
know there is neither water nor fruit nor game to
be had as there is here, and we might soon be starved
to death. God was good who led us beside this fine
lake, and upon these fruitful plains."

" It is a good thing that I had my axe when we
started from home," said Hector. "We should not
have been so well off* without it ; we shall find the
use of it if we have to build a house. We must look
out for some spot where there is a spring of good
water, and — "

" No horrible wolves," interrupted Catharine.
"Though I love this pretty ravine, and the banks
and braes about us, I do not think I shall like to
stay here. I heard the wolves only last night, when
you and Louis were asleep."

" We must not forget to keep watch-fires."

" What shall we do for clothes ? " said Catharine,
(721) 6

82 A WEIGHTY CONSIDERATION.

glancing at her home-spun frock of wool and cotton
plaid.

" A weighty consideration indeed," sighed Hector ;
'*^ clothes must be provided before ours are worn out
and the winter comes oil"

"We must save all the skins of the woodchucks
and squirrels," suggested Louis; "and fawns when
we catch them."

" Yes, and fawns when we get them," added Hector ;
" but it is time enough to think of all these things ;
we must not give up all hope of home."

" I give up all hope ? I shall hope on while I have
life," said Catharine. " My dear, dear father, he will
never forget his lost children ; he will try and find
us, alive or dead; he will never give up the search."

Poor child, how long did this hope burn like a
living torch in thy guileless breast. How often, as
they roamed those hills and valleys, were thine eyes
sent into the gloomy recesses of the dark ravines and
thick bushes, with the hope that they would meet
the advancing form and outstretched arms of thy
earthly parents: all in vain. Yet the arms of thy
heavenly Father were extended over thee, to guide,
to guard, and to sustain thee.

How often were Catharine's hands filled with wild-
flowers, to carry home, as she fondly said, to sick
Louise or her mother. Poor Catharine, how often
did your bouquets fade ; how often did the sad exile
water them with her tears, — ^for hers was the hope
that keeps alive despair.

When they roused them in the morning to recom-

UTTERLY BEWILDERED. 83

mence their fruitless wanderings, they would say to
each other, " Perhaps we shall see our father, he may
find us here to-day ; " but evening came, and still he
came not, and they were no nearer to their father s
home than they had been the day previous.

" If we could but find our way back to the ' Cold
Creek,' we might, by following its course, return to
Cold Springs," said Hector.

" I doubt much the fact of the ' Cold Creek * having
any connection with our Spring," said Louis; "I
think it has its rise in the Beaver Meadow, and fol-
lowing its course would only entangle us among those
wolfish balsam and cedar swamps, or lead us yet
further astray into the thick recesses of the pine
forest. For my part, I believe we are already fifty
miles from Cold Springs."

Persons who lose their way in the pathless woods
have no idea of distance, or the points of the compass,
unless they can see the sun rise and set, which it is
not possible to do when surrounded by the dense
growth of forest-trees ; they rather measure distance
by the time they have been wandering, than by any
other token.

The children knew that they had been a long time
absent from home, wandering hither and thither, and
they fancied their journey had been as long as it had
been weary. They had indeed the comfort of seeing
the sun in its course from east to west, but they knew
not in what direction the home they had lost lay ; it
was this that troubled them in their choice of the
course they should take each day, and at last deter-

84 THE JOURNEY IS RESUMED.

mined them to lose no more time so fruitlessly, where
the peril was so great, but seek for some pleasant
spot where they might pass their time in safety, and
provide for their present and future wants.

" The world was all before them, where to choose
Their place of rest, and Providence their guide."

Catharine declared her ankle was so much stronger
than it had been since the accident, and her health so
much amended, that the day after the conversation
just recorded, the little party bade farewell to the
valley of the " Big Stone," and ascending the steep
sides of the hills, bent their steps eastward, keeping
the lake to their left hand. Hector led the way,
loaded with the axe, which he would trust to no one
but himself, the tin-pot, and the birch basket. Louis
had to assist his cousin up the steep banks, likewise
some fish to carry, which had been caught early in
the morning.

The wanderers thought at first to explore the
ground near the lake shore, but soon abandoned this
resolution on finding the undergrowth of trees and
bushes become so thick that they made little progress,
and the fatigue of travelling was greatly increased by
having continually to put aside the bushes or bend
them down.

Hector advised trying the higher ground ; and after
following a deer-path through a small ravine that
crossed the hills, they found themselves on a fine
extent of table-land, richly but not too densely wooded
with white and black oaks {Quercus alba and Quercv^

IN AGES PAST. 85

nigra), diversified with here and there a solitary
pine, which reared its straight and pillar-like trunk
in stately grandeur above its leafy companions; a
meet eyrie for the bald eagle, that kept watch from
its dark crest over the silent waters of the lake,
spread below like a silver zone studded with emeralds.

In their progress they passed the head of many
small ravines, which divided the hilly shores of the
lake into deep furrows : these furrows had once been
channels by which the waters of some upper lake
(the site of which is now dry land) had at a former
period poured down into the valley, filling the basin
of what now is called the Rice Lake. These waters,
with resistless sweep, had ploughed their way between
the hills, bearing in their course those blocks of
granite and limestone which are so widely scattered
both on the hill-tops and the plains, or form a rocky
pavement at the bottom of the narrow defiles. What
a sight of sublime desolation must that outpouring of
the waters have presented, when those deep banks
were riven by the sweeping torrents that were loosened
from their former bounds! The pleased eye rests
upon these tranquil shores, now covered with oaks
and pines, or waving with a flood of golden grain, or
varied by neat dwellings and fruitful gardens ; and
the gazer on that peaceful scene scarcely pictures to
himself what it must have been when no living eye
was there to mark the rushing floods when they
scooped to themselves the deep bed in which they
now repose.

Those lovely islands that sit like stately crowns

86 UPPER AND LOWER RACE-COURSE.

upon the waters were doubtless the wreck that
remained of the valley ; elevated spots, whose rocky
bases withstood the force of the rushing waters, that
carried away the lighter portions of the soil. The
southern shore, seen from the lake, seems to lie in
regular ridges running from south to north: some
few are parallel with the lake shore, possibly where
some insurmoimtable impediment turned the current
of the subsiding waters ; but they all find an outlet
through their connection with ravines commimicating
with the lake.

There is a beautiful level tract of land, with only
here and there a solitary oak or a few stately pines
growing upon it ; it is commonly called the " Upper
Race-course," on accoimt of the smoothness of the
surface. It forms a high table-land, nearly three
hundred feet above the lake, and is surroimded by
high hills. This spot, though now dry and covered
with turf and flowers, and low bushes, has evidently
once been a broad sheet of water. To the eastward
lies a still more lovely and attractive spot, known as
the "Lower Race-course." It lies on a lower level
than the former one, and, like it, is embanked by a
ridge of distant hills. Both have ravines leading down
to the Rice Lake, and may have been the sources
from whence its channel was filled. Some convulsion
of nature at a remote period, by raising the waters
above their natural level, might have caused a dis-
ruption of the banks, and drained their beds, as they
now appear ready for the ploughshare or the spade.
In the month of June these flats are brilliant with

A GARDEN OF NATURE'S OWN PLANTING. 87

the splendid blossoms of the Castilegia coccinea, or
painted-cup, the azure lupine {Lnpinus perennis), and
snowy Trillium; dwarf roses {Rosa hlanda) scent
the evening air, and grow as if planted by the hand
of taste.

A carpeting of the small downy saxifrage {Saxi-
fraga nivalis), with its white silky leaves, covers the
ground in early spring. In autumn it is red with the
frigU Wes LI d.A ta^.pe.1 le.v<» of . specie,
of creeping winter-green, that the Indians call spice-
berry {OavZtheria procumbens) ; the leaves are highly
aromatic, and it is medicinal as well as agreeable to
the taste and smell. In the month of July a gorgeous
assemblage of orange lilies {Lillum Philadelphicum)
take the place of the lupine and trilliums: these
splendid lilies vary from orange to the brightest
scarlet. Various species of sunflowers and coreopsis
next appear, and elegant white pyrolas * scent the
air and charm the eye. The delicate lilac and white
shrubby asters next appear ; and these are followed
by the large deep-blue gentian, and here and there
by the elegant fringed gentian.-f- These are the latest
and loveliest of the flowers that adorn this tract of
land. It is indeed a garden of nature's own planting,
but the wild garden is being converted into fields of
grain, and the wild flowers give place to a new race
of vegetables, less ornamental, but more useful to man
and the races of domestic animals that depend upon
him for their support.

* Indian bean, also called Indian potato {Apios tuheroia),
t Qentiana linearis, G. crenata.

88 AN INVITING RAVINE.

Our travellers, after wandering over this lovely
plain, found themselves, at the close of the day, at
the head of a fine ravine,* where they had the good
fortune to perceive a spring of pure water oozing
beneath some large moss-covered blocks of black
waterwom granite. The ground was thickly covered
with moss about the edges of the spring, and many
varieties of flowering shrubs and fruits were scattered
along the valley and up the steep sides of the sur-
rounding hills. There were whortleberries, or huckle-
berries, as they are more usually called, in abundance ;
bilberries dead ripe, and falling from the bushes at a
touch. The vines that wreathed the low bushes and
climbed the trees were loaded witL clusters of grapes;
but these were yet hard and green. Dwarf filberts
grew on the dry gravelly sides of the hills, yet the
rough prickly calyx that enclosed the nut filled
their fingers with minute thorns that irritated
the skin like the stings of the nettle; but as the
kernel, when ripe, was sweet and good, they did
not mind the consequences. The moist part of the
valley was occupied by a large bed of May-apples,-!*
the fruit of which was of unusual size, but they
were not ripe, August being the month when they
ripen ; there were also wild plums still green,
and wild cherries and blackberries ripening. There
were great numbers of the woodchucks' burrows
on the hills; wild partridges and quails were seen
under the thick covert of the blue-berried dog-

* Kilvert's Ravine, above Pine-tree Point.

t Podophyllum peltatum,— mandrake, or May-apple.

A SUMMER HUT. 89

wood,* that here grew in abundance at the mouth of
the ravine where it opened to the lake. As this spot
offered many advantages, our travellers halted for
the night, and resolved to make it their headquarters
for a season, till they should meet with an eligible
situatiouL for building a winter shelter.

Here, then, at the head of the valley, sheltered by
one of the rounded hills that formed its sides, our
young people erected a summer hut, somewhat after
the fashion of an Indian wigwam, which was all the
shelter that was requisite while the weather remained
so warm. Through the opening at the gorge of this
ravine they enjoyed a peep at the distant waters of
the lake, which terminated the vista, while they were
quite removed from its unwholesome vapours.

The temperature of the air for some days had been
hot and sultry, scarcely modified by the cool, delicious
breeze that usually sets in about nine o'clock ajid
blows most refreshingly till four or five in the after-
noon. Hector and Louis had gone down to fish for
supper, while Catharine busied herself in collecting
leaves and dried deer-grass, moss and fern, of which
there was abundance near the spring. The boys had
promised to cut some fresh cedar boughs near the
lake shore, and bring them up to form a foundation
for their beds, and also to strew Indian-fashion over
the floor of the hut by way of a carpet.

The fragrant carpet of cedar or hemlock-spruce
sprigs strewn lightly over the earthen floor, was to

* Comus sericea. The blue berries of this shrub are eaten by the partridge
and wild ducks ; also by the pigeons, and other birds. There are several species
of this shrub common to the Rice Lake.

90 DREAMING OF HOME.

them a luxury as great as if it had been taken from
the looms of Persia or Turkey, so happy and con-
tented were they in their ignorance. Their beds of
freshly gathered grass and leaves, raised from the
earth by a heap of branches carefully arranged, were
to them as pleasant as beds of down, and the rude
hut of bark and poles as curtains of damask or silk.

Having collected as much of these materials as she
deemed sufficient for the purpose, Catharine next
gathered up the dry oak branches, to make a watch-
fire for the night. This done, weary and warm, she
sat down on a little hillock, beneath the cooling shade
of a grove of young aspens that grew near the hut.
Pleased with the dancing of the leaves, which fluttered
above her head, and fanned her warm cheek with
their incessant motion, she thought, like her cousin
Louise, that the aspen was the merriest tree in the
forest, for it was always dancing, dancing, dancing.

She watched the gathering of the distant thunder-
clouds, which cast a deeper, more sombre shade upon
the pines that girded the northern shores of the lake
as with an ebon frame. Insensibly her thoughts
wandered far away from the lonely spot whereon she
sat, to the stoup * in front of her father s house, and
in memory *s eye she beheld it all exactly as she had
left it. There stood the big spinning-wheel, just as
she had set it aside ; the hanks of dyed yarn sus-
pended from the rafters, the basket filled with the
carded wool ready for her work. She saw in fancy

" The Dutch word for veranda, which is still in common use among the
Canadians.

A JOYFUL AWAKENING. 91

her father, with his fine athletic upright figure, his
sunburnt cheeks and clustering sable hair, his clear
energetic hazel eyes ever beaming upon her, his
favourite child, with looks of love and kindness as
she moved to and fro at her wheel.* There, too,
was her mother, with her light step and sweet cheer-
ful voice, singing as she pursued her daily avoca-
tions ; and Donald and Kenneth driving up the cows
to be milked, or chopping firewood. And as these
images, like the figures of the magic-lantern, passed
in all their living colours before her mental vision,
her head drooped heavier and lower till it sank upon
her arm; and then she started, looked round, and
slept again, her face deeply buried in her young
bosom, and long and peacefully the young girl
slumbered.

A sound of hurrying feet approaches, a wild cry
is heard and panting breath, and the sleeper, with a
startling scream, springs to her feet : she dreamed
that she was struggling in the fangs of a wolf — its
grisly paws were clasped about her throat ; the feel-
ing was agony and suffocation: her languid eyes
open. Can it be ? — what is it that she sees ? Yes,
it is Wolfe ; not the fierce creature of her dreams by
night and her fears by day, but her father^s own
brave, devoted dog. What joy, what hope rushed
to her heart ! She threw herself upon the shaggy
neck of the faithful beast, and wept from fulness of
heart.

* Such is the method of working at the large wool-wheel, unknown or obsolete
in England.

" Yes," she joyfully cried, " I knew that I should
aee him again. My own dear, dear, loving father!

Father 1 father ! dear, dear father, here are your
children ! Come, come quickly ! " and she hurried
to the head of the valley, raising her voice, that the

DECEITFUL SOUNDa 93

beloved parent, who she now confidently believed
was approaching, might be guided to the spot by the
well-known sound of her voice.

Poor child! the echoes of thy eager voice, pro-
longed by every projecting headland of the valley,
replied in mocking tones, " Come quickly !"

Bewildered she paused, listened breathlessly, and
again she called, " Father, come quickly, come !" and
again the deceitful sounds were repeated, " Quickly
come!"

The faithful dog, who had succeeded in tracking
the steps of his lost mistress, raised his head and
erected his ears as she called on her father's name ;
but he gave no joyful bark of recognition as he was
wont to do when he heard his master s step approach-
ing. Still Catharine could not but think that Wolfe
had only hurried on before, and that her father must
be very near.

The sound of her voice had been heard by her
brother and cousin, who, fearing some evil beast had
made its way to the wigwam, hastily wound up their
line and left the fishing-ground to hurry to her assist-
ance. They could hardly believe their eyes when they
saw Wolfe, faithful old Wolfe, their earliest friend and
playfellow, named by their father after the gallant
hero of Quebec. And they too, like Catharine, thought
that their friends were not far distant ; joyfully they
climbed the hills and shouted aloud, and Wolfe was
coaxed and caressed and besought to follow them to
point out the way they should take. But all their
entreaties were in vain. Worn out with fatigue and

94 THE FAITHFUL MESSENGER.

long fasting, the poor old dog refused to quit the
embers of the fire, before which he stretched him-
self, and the boys now noticed his gaunt frame and
wasted flesh — ^he looked almost starved. The fact
now became evident that he was in a state of great
exhaustion. Catharine thought he eyed the spring
with wishful looks, and she soon supplied him with
water in the bark dish to his great relief.

Wolfe had been out for several days with his master,
who would repeat, in tones of sad eamestne&s, to the
faithful creature, " Lost, lost, lost !" It was his cus-
tom to do so when the cattle strayed, and Wolfe
would travel in all directions till he found them, nor
ceased his search till he discovered the objects he
was ordered to bring home. The last night of the
father's wanderings, when, sick and hopeless, he came
back to his melancholy home, as he sat sleeplessly
rocking himself to and fro, he involuntarily exclaimed,
wringing his hands, " Lost, lost, lost !" Wolfe heard
what to him was an imperative command ; he rose,
and stood at the door, and whined. Mechanically his
master rose, lifted the latch, and again exclaimed in
passionate tones those magic words, that sent the
faithful messenger forth into the dark forest path.
Once on the trail he never left it, but with an in-
stinct incomprehensible as it was powerful, he con-
tinued to track the woods, lingering long on spots
where the wanderers had left any signs of their so-
journ; he had for some time been baffled at the
Beaver Meadow, and again where they had crossed
Cold Creek, but had regained the scent and traced

SILENT STMPATHT. 95

them to the valley of the " Big Stone," and then, with
the sagacity of the bloodhound and the affection of
the terrier he had, at last, discovered the objects of
his unwearied though often baffled search.

What a state of excitement did the unexpected
arrival of old Wolfe create ! How many questions
were put to the poor beast, as he lay with his head
pillowed on the knees of his loving mistress ! Catha-
rine knew it was foolish, but she could not help talk-
ing to the dumb animal, as if he had been conversant
with her own language. Ah, old Wolfe, if your home-
sick nurse could but have interpreted those expres-
sive looks, those eloquent waggings of your bushy
tail, as it flapped upon the grass, or waved from
side to side ; those gentle lickings of the hand, and
mute sorrowful glances, as though he would have
said, " Dear mistress, I know all your troubles ; I
know all you say; but I cannot answer you !" There
is something touching in the silent sympathy of the
dog, to which only the hard-hearted and depraved
can be quite insensible. I remember once hearing of
a felon who had shown the greatest obstinacy and
callous indifference to the appeals of his relations
and the clergyman who attended him in prison, but
was softened by the sight of a little dog that had
been his companion in his days of comparative in-
nocence, forcing its way through the crowd, till it
gained the foot of the gallows; its mute look of
anguish and affection unlocked the fount of human
feeling, and the condemned man wept — perhaps the
first tears he had shed since childhood's happy days.

96 A thunderstorm:.

The night closed in with a tempest of almost
tropical violence. The inky darkness of the sky was
relieved, at intervals, by sheets of lurid flame, which
revealed every object far off or near. The distant
lake, just seen amid the screen of leaves through the
gorge of the valley, gleamed like a sea of molten
sulphur; the deep narrow defile, shut in by the
steep and wooded hills, looked deeper, more wild and
gloomy, when revealed by that vivid glare of light.

There was no stir among the trees, the heavy
rounded masses of foliage remained unmoved; the
very aspen, that tremulous sensitive tree, scarcely
stirred: it seemed as if the very pulses of nature
were at rest. The solemn murmur that preceded the
thunder-peals might have been likened to the moan-
ing of the dying. The children felt the loneliness
of the spot. Seated at the entrance of their sylvan
hut, in front of which their evening fire burned
brightly, they looked out upon the storm in silence
and in awe. Screened by the sheltering shrubs that
grew near them, they felt comparatively safe from
the dangers of the storm, which now burst in terrific
violence above the valley. Cloud answered to cloud,
and the echoes of the hills prolonged the sound, while
shattered trunks and brittle branches filled the air,
and shrieked and groaned in that wild war of
elements.

Between the pauses of the tempest the long howl
of the wolves, from their covert in some distant cedar
swamp at the edge of the lake, might be heard from
time to time, — a sound that always thrilled their

MELANCHOLY FOREBODINGS. 97

hearts with fear. To the mighty thunder-peals that
burst above their heads they listened with awe and
wonder. It seemed, indeed, to them as if it were the
voice of Him who " sendeth out his voice, yea, and
that a mighty voice." And they bowed and adored
his majesty; but they shrank with curdled blood
from the cry of the felon wolf.

And now the storm was at its climax, and the hail
and rain came down in a whitening flood upon that
ocean of forest leaves ; the old gray branches were
lifted up and down, and the stout trunks rent, for
they would not bow down before the fury of the
whirlwind, and were scattered all abroad like chaff
before the wind.

The children thought not of danger for themselves,
but they feared for the safety of their fathers, whom
they believed to be not far off from them. And often
amid the raging of the elements they fancied they
could distinguish familiar voices calling upon their
names.

"Ah, if our fathers should have perished in this
fearful storm," said Catharine, weeping, "or have
been starved to death while seeking for us ! " She
covered her face and wept more bitterly.

But Louis would not listen to such melancholy
forebodings. Their fathers were both brave, hardy
men, accustomed to every sort of danger and priva-
tion ; they were able to take care of themselves.
Yes, he was sure they were not far off; it was this
unlucky storm coming on that had prevented them
from meeting.

(721) 7

98 BUILDING A NEW HUT.

" To-morrow, ma chore, will be a glorious day after
the storm. It will be a joyful one too; we shall go out
with Wolfe, and he will find his master, and then —
oh, yes! I dare say my dear father will be with yours.
They will have taken good heed to the track, and we
shall soon see our dear mothers and chere petite
Louise."

The storm lasted till past midnight, when it gradu-
ally subsided, and the poor wanderers were glad to
see the murky clouds roll off, and the stars peep forth
among their broken masses ; but they were reduced
to a pitiful state, the hurricane having beaten down
their little hut, and their garments were drenched
with rain* However, the boys made a good fire with
some bark and boughs they had in store : there were
a few sparks in their back log unextinguished ; these
they gladly fanned up into a blaze, at which they
dried their wet clothes, and warmed themselves.
The air was now cool almost to chilliness ; for some
days the weather remained unsettled, and the sky
overcast with clouds, while the lake presented a leaden
hue, crested with white mimic waves.

They soon set to work to make another hut, and
found close to the head of the ravine a great pine
uprooted, affording them large pieces of bark, which
proved very serviceable in thatching the sides of the
hut. The boys employed themselves in this work,
while Catharine cooked the fish they had caught the
day before, with a share of which old Wolfe seemed
to be mightily well pleased. After they had break-
fasted, they all went up towards the high table-land

WILD-HONET STORES. 99

above the ravine, with Wolfe, to look round in hope
of getting sight of their friends from Cold Springs ;
but though they kept an anxious look-out in every
direction, they returned towards evening tired and
hopeless. Hector had killed a red squirrel, and a
partridge which Wolfe "treed," — ^that is, stood bark-
ing at the foot of the tree in which it had perched, —
and the supply of meat was a seasonable change.
They also noticed, and marked with the axe, several
trees where there were bee-hives, intending to come in
the cold weather and cut them down. Louis's father
was a great and successful bee-hunter; and Louis
rather prided himself on having learned something of
his father's skill in that line. Here, where flowers
were so abundant and water plentiful, the wild bees
seemed to be abundant also ; besides, the open space
between the trees, admitting the warm sunbeams
freely, was favourable both for the bees and the
flowers on which they fed, and Louis talked joyfully
of the fine stores of honey they should collect in au-
tumn. He had taught little Fanchon, a small French
spaniel of his father's, to find out the trees where the
bees hived, and also the nests of the ground-bees, and
she would bark at the foot of the tree, or scratch with
her feet on the ground, as the other dogs barked at
the squirrels or the woodchucks ; but Fanchon was
far away, and Wolfe was old and would 4eam no
new tricks, so Louis knew he had nothing but his
own observation and the axe to depend upon for pro-
curing honey.

The boys had been unsuccessful for some days past

UNPALATABLE FABB,

in fishing; neither perch
nor sunfish, pink rocuih nor
mud-pouts* were to be
caught However, they
found water -mussels by
groping in the sand, and
cray-fish among the gravel
at the edge of the water
only ; the latter pinched
their fingers very spite-
fully The mussels were
not very palatable, for
want of salt ; but hungry
folks must not be dainty,
and Louis declared them
very good when well roast-
ed covered up with hot
embers "The fiah-hawks,"
said he, ' set us a good ex-
,'(• I* iv ample, for they eat them,
and so do the eagles and
herons I watched one
the other day with a mus-
sel in his bill '. he fiew to a
high tree, let his prey fall,
and immediately darted
down to secure it. But
I drove him ofi^; and, to
my great amusement, per-

BIRDS AND SHELL-FISH. 101

ceived the wise fellow had just let it fall on a stone,
which had cracked the shell for him just in the right
place. I often see shells lying at the foot of trees, far
up the hills, where these birds must have left them.
There is one large thick-shelled mussel that I have
found several times with a round hole drilled through
the shell, just as if it had been done with a small
auger, — doubtless the work of some bird with a
strong beak."

" Do you remember," said Catharine, "the fine pink
mussel-shell that Hec picked up in the little corn-
field last year? It had a hole in one of the shells too,*
and when my uncle saw it, he said it must have been
dropped by some large bird, a fish-hawk possibly, or
a heron, and brought from the great lake, as it had
been taken out of some deep water ; the mussels in
our creeks being quite thin-shelled and white."

" Do you remember what a quantity of large fish-
bones we found in the eagle's nest on the top of our
hill, Louis ? " said Hector.

" I do. Those fish must have been larger than our
perch and sunfish; they were brought from this very
lake, I dare say."

" If we had a good canoe now, or a boat, and a strong
hook and line, we might become great fishermen."

"Louis," said Catharine, "is always thinking about
canoes, and boats, and skiffs ; he ought to have been
a sailor."

* This ingenious mode of cracking the shells of mussels is common to many
birds. The crow (Cormis corone) has been long known by American naturalists
to break the thick shells of the river mussels, by letting them fall from a height
on to rocks and stones.

102 A PROVIDENT SUGGESTION.

Louis was confident that if they had a canoe he
could soon learn to manage her ; he was an excellent
sailor already in theory. Louis never saw difficulties;
he was always hopeful, and had a very good opinion
of his own cleverness; he was quicker in most things,
his ideas flowed faster than Hector's. But Hector was
more prudent, and possessed one valuable quality —
steady perseverance: he was slow in adopting an
opinion, but when once convinced, he pushed on
steadily till he mastered the subject or overcame the
obstacle.

"Catharine," said Louis one day, "the huckle-
berries are now very plentiful, and I think it would
be a wise thing to gather a good store of them and
dry them for the winter. See, ma chere, wherever
we. turn pur eyes or place our feet they are to be
found; the hill-sides are purple with them. We may,
for aught we know, be obliged to pass the rest, of our
lives here; it will be well to prepare for the winter,
when no berries are to be found."

" It will be well, mon ami. But we must not dry
them in the sun ; for let me tell you, Mr. Louis, that
they will be quite tasteless — mere dry husks."

" Why so, ma belle ? "

" I do not know tlie reason, but I only know the
fact ; for when our mothers dried the currants and
raspberries in the sun, such was the case ; but when
they dried them on the oven floor, or on the hearth,
they were quite nice."

*' Well, Cath, I think I know of a flat thin stone
that will make a good hearthstone ; and we can get

hector's INGENUIXy. 103

sheets of birch bark and sew into flat bags to keep
the dried fruit in."

They now turned all their attention to drying
huckleberries (or whortleberries).* Catharine and
Louis (who fancied nothing could be contrived with-
out his help) attended to the preparing and making
of the bags of birch bark ; but Hector was soon tired
of girFs work, as he termed it, and after gathering
some berries, would wander away over the hills in
search of game and to explore the neighbouring hills
and valleys, and sometimes it was sunset before he
made his 'appearance. Hector had made an excellent
strong bow, like the Indian bow, out of a tough piece
of hickory wood, which he found in one of his
rambles, and he made arrows with wood that he
seasoned in the smoke, sharpening the heads with
great care with his knife, and hardening them by
exposure to strong heat, at a certain distance from
the fire. The entrails of the woodchuck, stretched,
and scraped, and dried, and rendered pliable by rub-
bing and drawing through the hands, answered for
a bow-string; but afterwards, when they got the
sinews and hide of the deer, they used them, properly
dressed for the purpose.

Hector also made a cross-bow, which he used with
great effect, being a true and steady marksman.
Louis and he would often amuse themselves with

* From the abundance of this fruit, the Indians have given the name of
Whortleberry Plain to the lands on the south shore. During the month of July
and the early part of August, large parties come to the Kice Lake Plains to
gather huckleberries, which they preserve by drying, for winter use. These
berries make a delicious tart or pudding, mixed with bilberries and red currants,
requiring little sugar.

104 WILD ANIMALS.

shooting at a mark, which they would chip on tho
bark of a tree; even Catharine was a tolerable
archeress with the long-bow, and the hut was now
seldom without game of one kind or other. Hector
seldom returned from his rambles without partridges,
quails, or young pigeons, which are plentiful at this
season of the year ; many of the old ones that pass
over in their migratory flight in the spring stay to
breed, or return thither for the acorns and berries
that are to be found in great abundance. Squirrels,
too, are very plentiful at this season. Hector and
Louis remarked that the red and black squirrels
never were to be found very near each other. It is a
common belief that the red squirrels make common
cause with the gray, and beat the larger enemy off
the ground. The black squirrel, for a succession of
years, was very rarely to be met with on the Plains,
while there were plenty of the red and gray in the
''oak openings."* Deer, at the time our young
Crusoes were living on the Rice Lake Plains, were
plentiful ; and, of course, so were those beasts that
prey upon them, — wolves, bears, and wolverines,
besides the Canadian lynx, or catamount, as it is here
commonly called, a species of wild cat or panther.
These wild animals are now no longer to be seen : it
is a rare thing to hear of bears or wolves, and the
wolverine and lynx are known only as matters of
history in this part of the country. These animals
disappear as civilization advances, while some others

* Within the last few years, however, the black squirrels have been very
numerous, and the red are less frequently to be seen. The flesh of the black
squirrel is tender, white, and delicate, like that of a young rabbit.

BIRD- FOLLOWERS OP MAN.

■4^1^.;

in crease and follow man e,specially
many apecaes of buds wLicli seem to
pick lip the crumbs that fall from the
rich mans boaid and multiply about
his dwelling some idopfc new iiabits
and modes of building and feeding,
according to the alteration jind im-
provement in their circumstances,

Wliile our young people seldom
wanted for meat, they felt the priva-
tion of the bread to which they had
been accustomed very sensibly. One
day, while Hector and Louis were

jls important discovery.

busily engaged with their assistant, Wolfe, in un-
earUiing a 'woodchu<^, that bad taken, refuge in

his burrow, on one of the gravelly hills above the
lake, Catharine amused herself by looking for
flowers. She had filled her lap with ripe May-
apples,* but finding them cumbersome in climbing
the steep wooded hills, she deposited them at the
foot of a tree near the boys, and pursued her search ;
and it was not long before she perceived some pretty
grassy-looking plants, with heads of bright lilac
flowers, and on plucking one pulled up the root
also. The root was about the size and shape of a
large crocus ; and on biting it, she found it far from
disagreeable — sweet, and slightly astringent. It
seemed to be a favourite root with the woodchucks,

• The frail of the MtT-apple, Id lich, mojit toll, will AtUln to the llie of the
Dutgnam bonnm, or eEK-i>lani. which it nsemhlea in coloiu and ahipe. 11
miJfei a dellcions proaorve, If seaaoned with clorea or ginger. When eaten un-
cooked, the ontei rind, which Is thick and fleeh; and hai a raali tasM, ahonld be
thrown aalde; the Bua acid pulp in which the seeds are emhedded alone ahonld
be eaten. The root ol the podophyllam Is nacd u a cittbaitic hy the iDdlHis.
The root of this plant la rctlcniated; undwhen a Urge body of them ws on-
covered, they present a sln^lar appeatanoe, interUclng eMh othtr in large
meshes like an eiteneive net-woik. Theae roots are white, as thick as a man's
littl« finger, and [ragnnt, and spread horlnntally along the surface. The
blooora iM like a sroall white rose.

EDIBLE ROOTS. 107

for she noticed that it grew about their burrows on
dry, graveUy soil, and many of the stems were bitten
and the roots eaten — a warrant, in full, of whole-
someness. Therefore, carrying home a parcel of the
largest of the roots, she roasted them in the embers ;
and they proved almost as good as chestnuts, and
more satisfying than the acorns of the white oak,
which they had often roasted in the fire when they
were out working on the fallow at the log heaps.
Hector and Louis ate heartily of the roots, and com-
mended Catharine for the discovery. Not many
days afterwards, Louis accidentally found a much
larger and more valuable root near the lake shore.
He saw a fine climbing shrub, with close bunches
of dark, reddish -purple, pea- shaped flowers, which
scented the air with a delicious perfume. The plant
climbed to a great height over the young trees, with
a profusion of dark-green leaves and tendrils. Pleased
with the bowery appearance of the plant, he tried to
pull one up, that he might show it to his coasin, when
the root displayed a number of large tubers, as big
as good-sized potatoes, regular oval-shaped; the inside
was quite white, tasting somewhat like a potato, only
pleasanter, when in its raw state, than an uncooked
potato. Louis gathered his pockets full, and hastened
home with his prize ; and on being roasted, these new
roots were decided to be little inferior to potatoes —
at all events, they were a valuable addition to their
slender stores ; and they procured as many as they
could find, carefully storing them in a hole which
they dug for that purpose in a comer of their

108 A HERD OF BEER IN SIGHT.

hut.* Hector suggested that these roots would be far
better late in autumn or early in the spring than during
the time that the plant was in bloom ; for he knew
from observation and experience that at the flowering
season the greater part of the nourishment derived
from the soil goes to perfect the flower and the seeds.
Upon scraping the cut tuber, there was a white,
floury powder produced, resembling the starchy sub-
stance of the potato.

"This flour," said Catharine, "would make good
porridge with milk."

"Excellent, no doubt, my wise little cook and
housekeeper," said Louis laughing; "but, ma belle
cousine, where is the milk and where is the porridge-
pot to come from ?"

" Indeed," said Catharine, " I fear, Louis, we must
wait long for both."

One fine day Louis returned home from the lake
shore in great haste for the bows and arrows, with
the interesting news that a herd of five deer were in
the water, and making for Long Island.

" But, Louis, they will be gone out of sight and
beyond the reach of the arrows," said Catharine, as
she handed him down the bows and a sheaf of arrows,
which she quickly slung round his shoulders by the
belt of skin which the young hunter had made for
himself.

" No fear, ma chhve ; they will stop to feed on the

* This plant appears to me to be a species of the Psoralea esculentd^ or Indian
bread-root, which it resembles in description, excepting that the root of the
above is tuberous, oval, and connected by long filaments. The largest tubers are
farthest from the stem of the plant

AN EXCITING SCENE. 109

beds of rice and lilies. We must have Wolfe. Here,
Wolfe, Wolfe, Wolfe ! here, boy, here !" .

Catharine caught a portion of the excitement that
danced in the bright eyes of her cousin, and declaring
that she too would go and witness the hunt, ran down
the ravine by his side ; while Wolfe, who evidently
understood that they had some sport in view, trotted
along by his mistress, wagging his great bushy tail,
and looking in high good-humour.

Hector was impatiently waiting the arrival of the
bows and Wolfe. The herd of deer, consisting of a
noble buck, two full-grown females, and two young
half-grown males, were quietly feeding among the
beds of rice and rushes, not more than fifteen or
twenty yards from the shore, apparently quite un-
concerned at the presence of Hector, who stood on a
fallen trunk, eagerly eying their motions. But the
hurried steps of Louis and Catharine, with the deep,
sonorous baying of Wolfe, soon roused the timid
creatures to a sense of danger ; and the stag, raising
his head and making, as the children thought, a
signal for retreat, now struck boldly out for the
nearest point of Long Island.

"We shall lose them," cried Louis despairingly,
eying the long bright track that cut the silvery
waters as the deer swam gallantly out.

" Hist, hist, Louis," said Hector ; " all depends upon
Wolfe. — Turn them, Wolfe! hey, hey, seek them,
boy!"

Wolfe dashed bravely into the lake.

" Head them ! head them 1" shouted Hector. Wolfe

110 THE HERD SURROUNDED.

knew what was meant. With the sagacity of a long-
trained hunter, he made a desperate effort to gain
the advantage by a circuitous route. Twice the stag
turned irresolute, as if to face his foe, and Wolfe,
taking the time, swam ahead, and then the race began.
As soon as the boys saw the herd had turned, and
that Wolfe was between them and the island, they
separated, Louis making good his ambush to the
right among the cedars, and Hector at the spring to
the west, while Catharine was stationed at the soli-
tary pine-tree, at the point which commanded the
entrance of the ravine.

"Now, Cathy," said her brother, "when you see
the herd making for the ravine, shout and clap your
hands, and they will turn either to the right or to
the left. Do not let them land, or we shall lose
them. We must trust to Wolfe for their not escap-
ing to the island. Wolfe is well trained ; he knows
what he is about."

Catharine proved a dutiful ally. She did as she
was bid. She waited till the deer were within a few
yards of the shore, then she shouted and clapped
her hands. Frightened at the noise and clamour, the
terrified creatures coasted along for some way, till
within a little distance of the thicket where Hector
lay concealed — ^the very spot from which they had
emerged when they first took to the water ; to this
place they boldly steered. Louis, who had watched
the direction the herd had taken with breathless
interest, now noiselessly hurried to Hector's assist-
ance, taking an advantageous post for aim, in case

hector's success. Ill

Hector's arrow missed, or only slightly wounded one
of the deer.

Hector, crouched beneath the trees, waited cau-
tiously till one of the does was within reach of his
arrow ; and so good and true was his aim, that it

112 HONOURS OF THE CHASE.

hit the animal in the throat a little above the chest.
The stag now turned again, but Wolfe was behind
and pressed him forward, and again the noble animal
strained every nerve for the shore. Louis now shot
his arrow, but it swerved from the mark. He was
too eager; the arrow glanced harmlessly along the
water. But the cool, unimpassioned hand of Hector
sent another arrow between the eyes of the doe,
stunning her with its force ; and then another from
Louis laid her on her side, dying, and staining the
water with her blood.

The herd, abandoning their dying companion,
dashed frantically to the shore; and the young
hunters, elated by their success, suffered them to
make good their landing without further molestation.
Wolfe, at a signal from his master, ran in the quarry,
and Louis declared exultingly that as his last arrow
had given the coup de grace, he was entitled to the
honour of cutting the throat of the doe ; but this the
stem Highlander protested against, and Louis, with
a careless laugh, yielded the point, contenting himself
with saying, " Ah well, I will get the first steak of
the venison when it is roasted, and that is far more
to my taste." Moreover, he privately recounted to
Catharine the important share he had had in the
exploit, giving her, at the same time, full credit for
the worthy service she had performed in withstand-
ing the landing of the herd. Wolfe, too, came in
for a large share of the honour and glory of the
chase.

The boys were soon hard at work skinning the

PRACTICAL KyOWLEDGE. 113

animal and cutting it up. This was the most valu-
able acquisition they had yet effected, for many uses
were to be made of the deer besides eating the flesh.
It was a store of wealth in their eyes.

During the many years that their fathers had
sojourned in the country, there had been occasional
intercourse with the fur-traders and trappers, and
sometimes with friendly-disposed Indians who had
called at the lodges of their white brothers for food
and tobacco.

From all these men, rude as they were, some prac-
tical knowledge had been acquired ; and their visits,
though few and far between, had left good fruit
behind them — ^something to think about and talk
about and turn to future advantage.

The boys had learned from the Indians how
precious were the tough sinews of the deer for
sewing. They knew how to prepare the skins of
the deer for moccasins, which they could cut out and
make as neatly as the squaws themselves. They
could fashion arrow-heads, and knew how best to
season the wood for making both the long and cross
bow. They had seen the fish-hooks these people
manufactured from bone and hard wood. They
knew that strips of fresh-cut skins would make bow-
strings, or the entrails of animals dried and rendered
pliable. They had watched the squaws making
baskets of the inner bark of the oak, elm, and bass-
wood, and mats of the inner bark of the cedar, with
many other ingenious works that they now found

would prove useful to them, after a little practice
(721) 8

IH MAKING THE MOST OF THEIR PRIZE.

had perfected their inexperienced attempts. They
also knew how to dry venison as the Indians and
trappers prepare it, by cutting the thick fleshy por-
tions of the meat into strips from four to six inches
in breadth and two or more in thickness. These
strips they strung upon poles supported on forked
sticks, and exposed them to the drying action of the
sun and wind. Fish they split open, and removed
the back and head bones, and smoked them slightly,
or dried them in the sun.

Their success in killing the doe greatly raised their
spirits ; in their joy they embraced each other, and
bestowed the most affectionate caresses on Wolfe for
his good conduct.

" But for this dear, wise old fellow, we should have
had no venison for dinner to-day," said Louis; "and
so, Wolfe, you shall have a choice piece for your own
share."

Every part of the deer seemed valuable in the eyes
of the young hunters. The skin they carefully
stretched out upon sticks to dry gradually, and the
entrails they also preserved for bow-strings. The
sinews of the legs and back they drew out and laid
carefully aside for future use.

" We shall be glad enough of these strings by-and-
by," said careful Hector ; " for the summer will soon
be at an end, and then we must turn our attention
to making ourselves winter clothes and moccasins."

" Yes, Hec, and a good warm shanty. These huts
of bark and boughs will not do when once the cold
weather sets in."

WHAT CHILDREN MAT DO. 115

" A shanty could soon be put up," said Hector ;
" for even Kate, wee bit lassie as she is, could give
us some help in trimming up the logs."

"That I could, indeed," replied Catharine; "for
you may remember, Hec, that the last journey my
father made to the Bay,* with the pack of furs, that
you and I called a Bee f to put up a shed for the new
cow that he was to drive back with him, and I am
sure Mathilde and I did as much good as you and
Louis. You know you said you could not have got
on nearly so well without our help."

"After all," said Hector thoughtfully, "children
can do a great many things if they only resolutely
set to work, and use the wits and the strength that
God has given them to work with. A few weeks ago
and we should have thought it utterly impossible to
have supported ourselves in a lonely wilderness like
this by our own exertions in fishing and hunting."

" If we had been lost in the forest we must have
died with hunger," said Catharine; "but let us be
thankful to the good God who led us hither, and gave
us health and strength to help ourselves."

* Bay of Quints.

t A Bee is a practical instance of duty to a neighbour. We fear it is peculiar
to Canada, although deserving of imitation in all Christian colonies. When any
work which requires many hands is in the course of performance, as the building
of log-houses, bams, or shanties, all the neighbours are summoned, and give
their best asdstance in the cozuitruction. Of course the assisted party is liable
to be called upon by the community in turn, to repay in kind the help he hatf
received.

CHAPTER lY.

" Aye from the sultry heat,
We to our cave retreat,
O'ercanopied by huge roots, intertwined,
Of wildest texture, blackened o'er with age."

COLERIDQK.

OUIS, what are you cutting out of that bit
of wood ? " said Catharine, the very next
day after the first ideas of the shanty
had. been started.
" Hollowing out a canoe."

" Out of that piece of stick ! " said Catharine,
laughing. "How many passengers is it to accom-
modate, my dear ? "

" I am only making a model. My canoe will be
made out of a big pine log, and large enough to hold
three."

" Is it to be like the big sap-trough in the sugar-
bush at home ? "

Louis nodded assent. " I long to go over to the
island ; I see lots of ducks popping in and out of the
little bays beneath the cedars, and there are plenty
of partridges, I am sure, and squirrels — it is the very
place for them."

" And shall we have a sail as well as oars ? "

MODELLING A CANOE. 117

" Yes ; set up your apron for a sail."

Catharine cast a rueful look upon the tattered
remnant of the apron.

" It is worth nothing now," she said, sighing ; " and
what am I to do when my gown is worn out ? It is
a good thing it is so strong ; if it had been cotton,
now, it would have been torn to bits among the
bushes."

" We must make clothes of skins as soon as we get
enough," said Hector. — ^" Louis, I think you can manu-
factiu-e a bone needle ; we can pierce the hole with
the strong thorns, or a little round bone bodkin that
can be easily made."

" The first rainy day we will see what we can do,"
replied Louis ; " but I am full of my canoe just now."

" Indeed, Louis, I believe you never think of any-
thing else ; but even if we had a canoe to-morrow, I
do not think that either you or I could manage one,"
said cautious Hector.

" I could soon learn as others have done before me.
I wonder who first taught the Indians to make
canoes, and venture out on the lakes and streams.
Why should we be more stupid than these untaught
heathens ? I have listened so often to my father's
stories and adventures when he was out lumbering
on the St. John River, that I am as familiar with the
idea of a boat as if I had been bom in one. Only
think now," he said, turning to Catharine; "just
think of the fish, the big ones, we could get if we
had but a canoe to push out from the shore beyond
those rush-beds."

118 AN IHDUN HnNTING-QROUSD.

" It strikes me, Louis, that those rush-beds, as you
call them, must be the lodian rice that we have seen
the squaws make their soup of."

" Yes ; and you remember old Jacob used to talk
of a fine lake that he called Eice Lake, somewhere to
the northward of the Cold Springs, where he said
there was plenty of game of all kinds, and a fine
open place where people could see through the open-

ings among the trees. He said it was a great hunt-
ing-place for the Indians in the fall of the year, and
that they came there to hunt the peccsary, which is, as
you know, a kind of wild boar, and whose flash is
very good eating."

" 1 hope the Indians will not come here and find us
out;" said Catharine, shuddering; "I think I should

THE RED AND THE WHITE MAN. 119

be more frightened at the Indians than at the wolves.
Have we not heard fearful tales of their cruelty ? "

" But we have never been harmed by them ; they
have always been civil enough when they came to
the Springs."

"They came, you know, for food, or shelter, or
something that they wanted from us ; but it may be
different when they find us alone and improtected,
encroaching upon their hunting-grounds."

" The place is wide enough for us and them ; we
will try and make them our friends."

" The wolf and the lamb do not lie down in the
fold together," observed Hector. "The Indian is
treacherous. The wild man and the civilized man
do not live well together, their habits and dispositions
are^o contrary the one to the other. We are open
and they are cunning, and they suspect our openness
to be only a greater degree of cunning than their
own — they do not imderstand us. They are taught
to be revengeful, and we are taught to forgive our
enemies. So you see that what is a virtue with the
savage is a crime with the Christian. If the Indian
could be taught the Word of God he might be kind,
and true, and gentle as well as brave."

It was with conversations like this that our poor
wanderers whiled away their weariness. The love of
life, and the exertions necessary for self-preservation,
occupied so large a portion of their thoughts and
time, that they had hardly leisure for repining.
They mutually cheered and animated each other to
bear up against the sad fate that had thus severed

120 AN EXPLORING EXPEDITION.

them from every kindred tie, and shut them out from
that home to which their young hearts were boimd
by every endearing remembrance from infancy up-
wards.

One bright September morning our young people
set off on an exploring expedition, leaving the faith-
ful Wolfe to watch the wigwam; for they well knew
he was too honest to touch their store of dried fish
and venison himself, and too trusty and fierce to
suffer wolf or wild cat near it.

They crossed several narrow, deep ravines, and the
low wooded flat along the lake shore, to the eastward
of Pine-tree Point. Finding it difficult to force their
way through the thick underwood that always
impedes the progress of the traveller on the low
shores of the lake, they followed the course of an
ascending narrow ridge, which formed a sort of
natural causeway between two parallel hollows, the
top of this ridge being in many places not wider than
a cart or waggon could pass along. The sides were
most gracefully adorned with flowering shrubs, wild
vines, creepers of various species, wild cherries of
several kinds, hawthorns, bilberry bushes, high-bush
cranberries, silver birch, poplars, oaks, and pines;
while in the deep ravines on either side grew trees
of the largest growth, the heads of which lay on a
level with their path. Wild cliffy banks, beset with
huge boulders of red and gray granite and water-
worn limestone, showed that it had once formed the
boundary of the lake, though now it was almost a
quarter of a mile in its rear. Springs of pure water

A LAND OF MYSTERY. 121

were in abundance, trickling down the steep rugged
sides of this wooded glen. The children wandered
onwards, delighted with the wild picturesque path
they had chosen, sometimes resting on a huge block
of moss-covered stone, or on the twisted roots of some
ancient gray old oak or pine, whilst they gazed with
curiosity and interest on the lonely but lovely land-
scape before them. Across the lake, the dark forest
shut all else from their view, rising in gradual far-off
slopes till it reached the utmost boundary of sight.
Much the children marvelled what country it might
be that lay in the dim, blue, hazy distance, — to them,
indeed, a terra incognita — a land of mystery; but
neither of her companions laughed when Catharine
gravely suggested the probability of this unknown
shore to the northward being her father's beloved
Highlands. Let not the youthful and more learned
reader smile at the ignorance of the Canadian girl ;
she knew nothing of maps, and globes, and hemi-
spheres, — her only book of study had been the Holy
Scriptures, her only teacher a poor Highland soldier.
Following the elevated ground above this deep
valley, the travellers at last halted on the extreme
edge of a high and precipitous mound, that formed an
abrupt termination to the deep glen. They found
water not far from this spot fit for drinking by
following a deer-path a little to the southward. And
there, on the borders of a little basin on a pleasant
brae, where the bright silver birch waved gracefully
over its sides, they decided upon building a winter
house. They named the spot Mount Ararat : " For

122 CHANGE OF RESIDENCE.

here," said they, " we will build us an ark of refuge,
and wander no more." And Mount Ararat is the
name which the spot still bears. Here they sat them
down on a fallen tree and ate a meal of dried venison
and drank of the cold spring that welled out from
beneath the edge of the bank. Hector felled a tree
to mark the site of their house near the birches ; and
they made a blaze, as it is called, on the trees, by cut-
ting away pieces of the outer bark, as they returned
home towards the wigwam, that they might not miss
the place. They found less difficulty in retracing
their path than they had formerly, as there were
some striking peculiarities to mark it, and they had
learned to be veiy minute in the marks they made
as they travelled, so that they now seldom missed
the way they came by. A few days after this they
removed all their household stores — namely, the axe,
the tin pot, bows and arrows, baskets, and bags of
dried fruit, the dried venison and fish, and the deer-
skin ; nor did they forget the deer-scalp, which they
bore away as a trophy, to be fastened up over the
door of their new dwelling, for a memorial of their
first hunt on the shores of the Rice Lake. The skin
was given to Catharine to sleep on.

The boys were now busy from morning till night
chopping down trees for house-logs. It was a work
of time and labour, as the axe was blunt and the
oaks hard to cut; but they laboured on without
grumbling, and Kate watched the fall of each tree
with lively joy. They were no longer dull; there
was something to look forward to from day to day —

BUILDING THEIR WINTER HOUSE. 123

they were going to commence housekeeping in good
earnest; they would be warmly and well lodged
before the bitter frosts of winter could come to chill
their blood. It was a joyful day when the log walls
of the little shanty were put up, and the door hewed
out. Windows they had none, so they did not cut
out the spaces for them;* they could do very well
without, as hundreds of Irish and Highland emigrants
have done before and since.

A pile of stones rudely cemented together with wet
clay and ashes against the logs, and a hole cut in the
roof, formed the chimney and hearth in this primitive
dwelling. The chinks were filled with wedge-shaped
pieces of wood, and plastered with clay: the trees,
being chiefly oaks and pmes, afforded no moss. This
deficiency rather surprised the boys, for in the thick
forest and close cedar-swamps moss grows in abun-
dance on the north side of the trees, especially on the
cedar, maple, beech, bass, and iron wood ; but there
were few of these, excepting a chance one or two in
the little basin in front of the house. The roof was
next put on, which consisted of split cedars. And
when the little dwelling was thus far habitable, they
were all very happy. While the boys had been put-
ting on the roof, Catharine had collected the stones
for the chimney, and cleared the earthen floor of the
chips and rubbish with a broom of cedar boughs,
bound together with a leathern thong. She had
swept it all clean, carefully removing all unsightly

* Maiif a shanty is put np in Canada without windows, and only an open
tpaee for a door, with a rude plank set up to close it in at night

124 HOUSEHOLD COMFORT&

objects, and strewing it over with fresh cedar sprigs,
which gave out a pleasant odour and formed a smooth
and not imseemly carpet for their little dwelling.
How cheerful was the first fire blazing up on their
own hearth ! It was so pleasant to sit by its glad-
dening light, and chat away of all they had done and
all that they meant to do ! Here was to be a set
of split cedar shelves, to hold their provisions and
baskets ; there a set of stout pegs was to be inserted
between the logs, for hanging up strings of dried
meat, bags of birch bark, or the skins of the animals
they were to shoot or trap. A table was to be fixed
on posts in the centre of the floor. Louis was to
carve wooden platters and dish':3, and some stools
were to be made with hewn blocks of wood till
something better could be devised. Their bedsteads
were rough poles of ironwood, supported by posts
driven into the ground, and partly upheld by the pro-
jection of the logs at the angles of the wall. Nothing
could be more simple. The frame- work was of split
cedar; and a safe bed was made by pine boughs
being first laid upon the frame, and then thickly
covered with dried grass, moss, and withered leaves.
Such were the lowly but healthy couches on which
these children of the forest slept.

A dwelling so rudely framed and scantily furnished
would be regarded with disdain by the poorest Eng-
lish peasant. Yet many a settler's family have I
seen as roughly lodged, while a better house was
being prepared for their reception; and many a
gentleman's son has voluntarily submitted to priva-

THE LUMBERING TRADE, 127

tions as great as these from the love of novelty and
adventure, or to embark in the tempting expectation
of realizing money in the lumbering trade, — ^working
hard, and sharing the rude log shanty and ruder
society of those reckless and hardy men, the Canadian
lumberers. During the spring and summer months
these men spread themselves through the trackless
forests, and along the shores of nameless lakes and
unknown streams, to cut the pine or oak lumber, —
such being the name they give to the felled stems
of trees, — which are then hewn, and in the winter
dragged out upon the ice, where they are formed into
rafts, and in spring floated down the waters till they
reach the great St. Lawrence, and are, after innumer-
able difficulties and casualties, finally shipped for
England. I have likewise known European gentle-
men voluntarily leave the comforts of a civilized
home and associate themselves with the Indian trap-
pers and hunters, leading lives as wandering and as
wild as the imcultivated children of the forest.

The nights and early mornings were already grow-
ing sensibly more chilly. The dews at this season
fall heavily, and the mists fill the valleys till the sun
has risen with sufficient heat to draw up the vapours.
It was a good thing that the shanty was finished so
soon, or the exposure to the damp air might have
been productive of ague and fever. Every hour
almost they spent in making little additions to their
household comforts, but some time was necessarily
passed in trying to obtain provisions. One day
Hector, who had been out from dawn till moonrise.

128 PREPARING WINTER STORES.

returned with the welcome news that he had shot a
young deer, and required the assistance of his cousin
to bring it up the steep bank (it was just at the
entrance of the great ravine) below the precipitous
cliflT near the lake : he had left old Wolfe to guard it
in the meantime. They had now plenty of fresh
broiled meat, and this store was very acceptable, as
they were obliged to be very careful of the dried
meat that they had.

This time Catharine adopted a new plan. Instead
of cutting the meat in strips, and drying it (or jerking
it, as the lumberers term it), she roasted it before the
fire, and hung it up, wrapping it in thin sheets of
birch bark. The juices, instead of being dried up,
were preserved, and the meat was more palatable.
Catharine found great store of wild plums in a beau-
tiful valley not far from the shanty ; these she dried
for the winter store, eating sparingly of them in their
fresh state. She also found plenty of wild black
currants and high-bush cranberries, on the banks of
a charming creek of bright water that flowed between
a range of high pine hills and finally emptied itself
into the lake. There were great quantities of water-
cresses in this pretty brook; they grew in bright,
round, cushion-like tufts at the bottom of the water,
and were tender and wholesome. These formed an
agreeable addition to their diet, which had hitherto
been chiefly confined to animal food, for they could
not always meet with a supply of the bread-roots, as
they grew chiefly in damp, swampy thickets on the
lake shore, which were sometimes very difficult of

NECESSITY AND INTENTION. 129

access. However, they never missed any opportunity
of increasing their stores, and laying up for the winter
such roots as they could procure.

As the cool weather and frosty nights drew on, the
want of warm clothes and bed-covering became more
sensibly felt ; those they had were beginning to wear
out. Catharine had managed to wash her clothes at
the lake several times, and thus preserved them dean
and wholesome; but she was often sorely puzzled
how the want of her dress was to be supplied as time
wore on, and many were the consultations she held
with the boys on the important subject. With the
aid of a needle she might be able to manufacture the
skins of the small animals into some sort of jacket,
and the doe-skin and deer-skin could be made into
garments for the boys. Louis was always suppling
and rubbing the skins to make them soft : they had
taken off the hair by sprinkling it with wood ashes,
and rolling it up with the hairy side inwards. Out
of one of these skins he made excellent moccasins,
piercing the holes with a sharpened bone bodkin, and
passing the sinews of the deer through, as he had
seen his father do, by fixing a stout fish-bone to the
deer-sinew thread. Thus he had an excellent substi-
tute for a needle ; and, with the aid of the old file, he
sharpened the point of the rusty nail, so that he was
enabled, with a little trouble, to drill a hole in a bone
needle for his cousin Catharine's use. After several
attempts, he succeeded in making some of tolerable
fineness, hardening them by exposure to a slow, steady
degree of heat till she was able to work with them,

(721) 9

180 A MINIATURE D1A27A.

and even mend her clothes with tolerable expertness.
By degrees, Catharine contrived to cover the whole
outer surface of her homespun woollen frock with
squirrel and mink, musk-rat and woodchuck skins.
A curious piece of fur patchwork of many hues and
textures it presented to the eye, — a coat of many
colours, it is true ; but it kept the wearer warm, and
Catharine was not a little proud of her ingenuity
and industry, — every new patch that was added was
a source of fresh satisfaction ; and the moccasins that
Louis fitted so nicely to her feet were great comforts.
A fine skin that Hector brought triumphantly in one
day, the spoil from a fox that had been caught in one
of his dead-falls, was in due time converted into a
dashing cap, the brush remaining as an ornament to
hang down on one shoulder. Catharine might have
passed for a small Diana when she went out, with
her fur dress and bow and arrows, to hunt with
Hector and Louis.

Whenever game of any kind was killed, it was
carefully skinned, and the fur stretched upon bent
sticks, being first turned, so as to present the inner
part to the drying action of the air. The young
hunters were most expert in this work, having been
accustomed for many years to assist their fathers in
preparing the furs which they disposed of to the fur
traders, who visited them from time to time, and
gave them various articles in exchange for their
peltries, — such as powder and shot, and cutlery of dif-
ferent kinds, as knives, scissors, needles, and pins, with
gay calicoes and cotton handkerchiefs for the women.

A GREAT WANT. 131

As the evenings lengthened, the boys employed
themselves with carving wooden platters. Knives,
and forks, and spoons they fashioned out of the larger
bones of the deer, which they often found bleaching
in the sun and wind, where they had been left by
their enemies the wolves ; baskets too they made, and
birch dishes, which they could now finish so well that
they held water or any liquid. But their great want
was some vessel that would bear the heat of the fire ;
the tin pot was so small that it could be made little
use of in the cooking way. Catharine had made tea
of the leaves of the sweet fern, — a, graceful woody
fern, with a fine aromatic scent, like nutmegs.* This
shrub is highly esteemed among the Canadians as a
beverage, and also as a remedy against the ague. It
grows in great abundance on dry sandy lands and
wastes, by waysides.

" If we could but make some sort of earthen pot
that would stand the heat of the fire," said Louis,
" we might get on nicely with cooking."

But nothing like the sort of clay used by potters
had been seen, and they were obliged to give up that
thought and content themselves with roasting or
broiling their food. Louis, however, who was fond
of contrivances, made an oven, by hollowing out
a place near the hearth and lining it with stones,
filling up the intervals with wood ashes and such clay
as they could find, beaten into a smooth mortar.
Such cement answered very well, and the oven was
heated by filling it with hot embers; these were

* Comptonia aspUnifoliat a small shrub of the sweet-gale family.

132 A HAPPY HOME.

removed when it was sufficiently heated, and the
meat or roots placed within, the oven being covered
over with a flat stone previously heated before the fire,
and covered with hot embers. This sort of oven had
often been described by old Jacob as one in common
use among some of the Indian tribes in the Lower
Province, in which they cook small animals; they
could bake bread also in this oven, if they had had
flour to use.*

Since the finishing of the house and furnishing it
the young people were more reconciled to their lonely
life, and even entertained decided home feelings for
their Uttle log cabin. They never ceased, it is true,
to talk of their parents, and brothers, and sisters, and
wonder if all were well, and whether they still hoped
for their return, and to recall their happy day^ spent
in the home which they now feared they were
destined never again to behold. Nevertheless, they
were becoming each day more cheerful and more
active. Ardently attached to each other, they seemed
bound together by a yet more sacred tie of brother-
hood. They were now all the world to one another,
and no cloud of disunion came to mar their happiness.
Hector's habitual gravity and caution were tempered
by Louis's lively vivacity and ardour of temper; and
they both loved Catharine, and strove to smooth as
much as possible the hard life to which she was
exposed, by the most affectionate consideration for
her comfort ; and she, in return, endeavoured to repay

* This primitive oven is much like what voyagers have described as in use
among the natives of many of the South Sea Islands.

WHERE IS LOUIS ? 133

them by cheerfully enduring all privations, and
making light of all their trials, and taking a lively
interest in all their plans and contrivances.

Louis had gone out to fish at the lake one autumn
morning. During his absence a sudden squall of
wind came on, accompanied with heavy rain. As he
stayed longer than usual, Hector began to feel uneasy
lest some accident had befallen him, knowing his
adventurous spirit, and that he had for some days
previous been busy constructing a raft of cedar logs,
which he had fastened together with wooden pins.
This raft he had nearly finished, and was even talking
of adventuring over to the nearest island to explore
it, and see what game and roots and fruits it afforded.

Bidding Catharine stay quietly within doors till
his return. Hector ran off*, not without some misgiv-
ings of evil having befallen his rash cousin, which
fears he carefully concealed from his sister, as he did
not wish to make her needlessly anxious. When he
reached the shore, his mind was somewhat relieved
by seeing the raft on the beach, just as it had been
left the night before ; but neither Louis nor the axe
was to be seen, nor the fishing-rod and line.

"Perhaps," thought he, "Louis has gone further
down, to the mouth of the little creek in the flat east
of this, where we caught our last fish ; or maybe he
has gone up to the old place at Pine-tree Point."

While he yet stood hesitating within himself which
way to turn, he heard steps as of some one running,
and perceived his cousin hurrying through the bushes
in the direction of the shanty. It was evident by

134 "THE INDIANS ARE ALL ON BARE HILL."

his disordered air, and the hurried glances that he
cast over his shoulder from time to time, that some-
thing unusual had occurred to disturb him.

''Holloa, Louis! is it a bear, wolf, or catamount
that is on your trail ? " cried Hector, almost amused
by the speed with which his cousin hurried onward.
" Why, Louis, whither away ? "

Louis now turned and held up his hand, as if to
enjoin silence, till Hector came up to him.

" Why, man, what ails you ? what makes you run
as if you were himted down by a pack of wolves ? "

" It is not wolves, or bears either," said Louis, as
soon as he could get breath to speak; "but the
Indians are all on Bare Hill, holding a war-council,
I suppose, for there are several canoe-loads of them."

" How came you to see them ? "

" I must tell you that when I parted from you and
Cathy, instead of going down to my raft, as I thought
at first I would do, I followed the deer-path through
the little ravine, and then ascending the side of the
valley, I crossed the birch grove, and kept down the
slope within sight of the creek. While I was look-
ing out upon the lake, and thinking how pretty
the islands were, rising so green from the blue water,
I was surprised by seeing several dark spots dotting
the lake. At first, you may be sure, I thought
they must be a herd of deer, only they kept too far
apart, so I sat down on a log to watch, thinking if
they turned out to be deer I would race off for you
and Wolfe, and the bows and arrows, that we might
try our chance for some venison ; but as the black

^* I WATCHED THEM WITH A BEATING HEART." 135

specks came nearer and nearer, I perceived they
were canoes with Indians in them, three in each.
One made for the mouth of the creek, and ran ashore
among the thick bushes, while the others kept further
along the shore. I watched them with a beating
heart, and lay down flat, lest they should spy me
out ; for those fellows have eyes like catamounts, so
keen and wild — they see everything without seeming
to cast a glailce on it. After closely examining what
I suppose was one of our footmarks, I saw them
wind up the ridge till they reached the Bare Hill.*
You remember that spot; we called it so from its
barren appearance. In a few minutes a column of
smoke rose and curled among the pine-trees, and
then another and another, till I counted five fires
burning brightly ; and, as I stood on the high ground,
I could distinguish the figures of many naked savages
moving about, running to and fro like a parcel of
black ants on a cedar log ; and by-and-by I heard
them raise a yell like a pack of ravenous wolves on
a deer track. It made my heart leap up in my
breast. I forgot all the schemes that had just got
into my wise head of slipping quietly down and
taking off one of the empty birch canoes, which you
must own would have been a glorious thing for us ;
but when I heard the noise these wild wretches
raised, I darted off, and ran as if the whole set were
at my heels. I think I just saved my scalp." And

* Supposed to be a council-hilL It is known by the name of Bare Hill, from
the singular want of verdure on its surface. It is one of the steepest on the
ridge above the little creek ; being a picturesque object, with its fine pine-trees,
M«n from Mr. Hayward's grounds, and forms, I believe, a part of hit property.

\

13G WIIAT IS TO BE DONBt

Louis put his hand to his head, and tugged his
thick black curls, as if to ascertain that they were
still safe from the scalping - knives of his Indian
enemies.

" And now, Hec, what is to be done ? We must
hide ourselves from the Indians ; they will kill us, or
take us away with them, if they find us."

" Let us go home and talk over our plans with
Cathy."

" Yes ; for I have heard my father say two heads
are better than one, and so three of course must be
still better than two."

" Why," said Hector, laughing, " it depends upon
the stock of practical wisdom in the heads ; for two
fools, you know, Louis, will hardly form one rational
plan."

Various were the schemes devised for their security.
Hector proposed pulling down the shanty and dis-
persing the logs, so as to leave no trace of the little
dwelling; but to this neither his cousin nor his
sister would agree. To pull down the new house
that had cost them so much labour, and which had
proved such a comfort to them, they could not endure
even in idea.

" Let us put out the fire, and hide ourselves in the
big ravine below Mount Ararat; dig a cave in one of
the hills, and convey our household goods thither."
Such was Louis's plan.

"The ravines would be searched directly," sug-
gested Hector ; " besides, the Indians know they are
famous coverts for deer and game of all sorts : they

Catharine's counsel. 137

might chance to pop upon us, and catch us like
woodchucks in a burrow."

" Yes, and bum us," said Catharine with a shudder.
" I know the path that leads direct to the * Happy-
Valley ' (the name she had given to the low flat now
known as the ' Lower Race-course '), and it is not far
from here, only ten minutes* walk in a straight line.
We can conceal ourselves below the steep bank that
we descended the other day ; and there are several
springs of fresh water, and plenty of nuts and berries;
and the trees, though few, are so thickly covered
with close-spreading branches that touch the very
ground that we might hide ourselves from a hundred
eyes, were they ever so cunning and prying."

Catharine's counsel was deemed the most prudent,
and the boys immediately busied themselves with
hiding under the broken branches of a prostrate tree
such articles as they could not conveniently carry
away, leaving the rest to chance. With the most
valuable they loaded themselves, guided by Catha-
rine, who, with her dear old dog, marched forward
along the narrow footpath that had been made by
some wild animals, probably deer, in their passage
from the lake to their feeding-place, or favourite
covert, on the low sheltered plain, where, being
quite open, and almost, in parts, free from trees, the
grass and herbage was sweeter and more abundant,
and the springs of water were fresh and cool.

Catharine cast many a fearful glance through the
brushwood as they moved onward, but saw no living
thing, excepting a family of chitminks gaily chasing

138 THE FLIGHT.

each other along a fallen branch, and a cove7 of
quails that were feeding quietly on the red berries of
the Mitclidla repcTis, or twinberry,* as it is commonly
called, of which the partridges and quails are ex-
tremely fond; for Nature with a liberal hand has
spread abroad her bounties for the small denizens^
furred or feathered, that haunt the Bice Lake and
its flowery shores.

After a continued but gentle ascent through the
oak opening, they halted at the foot of a majestic
pine, and looked round them. It was a lovely spot
as any they had seen : from west to east, the lake,
bending like a silver crescent, lay between the bound-
ary hills of forest trees ; in front, the long lines of
imdulating wood-covered heights faded away into
mist, and blended with the horizon. To the east, a
deep and fertile valley lay between the high lands
on which they rested and the far ridge of oak hills.
From their vantage height they could distinguish
the outline of the Bare Hill, made more distinct by
its flickering fires and the smoke wreaths that hung
like a pearly-tinted robe among the dark pines that
grew upon its crest. Not long tarrying did our
fugitives make, though perfectly safe from detection
by the distance and their shaded position, for many
a winding vale and wood-crowned height lay between
them and the encampment.

But fear is not subject to the control of reason, and in
the present instance it invested the dreaded Indians

*Also partridge-berry and checker-berry, a lovely creeping winter-green,
with white fragrant flowers and doable icarlet berry.

A HIDING-PLACE. 13d

with superhuman powers of sight and of motion. A
few minutes' hasty flight brought our travellers to the
brow of a precipitous bank, nearly a hundred feet
above the level open plain which they sought. Here,
then, they felt comparatively safe : they were out of
sight of the camp-flres, the spot they had chosen
was open, and flight, in case of the approach of the
Indians, not difficult, while hiding-places were easy
of access. They found a deep, sheltered hollow in
the bank, where two mighty pines had been torn up
by the roots, and prostrated headlong down the steep,
forming a regular cave, roofed by the earth and
fibres that had been uplifted in their fall. Pendent
from these roots hung a luxuriant curtain of wild
grape-vines and other creepers, which formed a leafy
screen, through which the most curious eye could
scarcely penetrate. This friendly vegetable veil
seemed as if provided for their concealment, and
they carefully abstained from disturbing the pendent
foliage, lest they should, by so doing, betray their
hiding-place to their enemies. They found plenty of
long grass, and abundance of long soft green moss
and ferns near a small grove of poplars which sur-
rounded a spring of fine water. They ate some
dried fruit and smoked fish, and drank of the clear
spring ; and after they had said their evening prayers,
they lay down to sleep, Catharine's head pillowed
on the neck of her faithful guardian, Wolfe. In the
middle of the night a startling sound, as of some
heavy body falling, wakened them all simultaneously.
The night was so dark they could see nothing, and,

140 DIVINE PROTECTION.

terror-stricken, they sat gazing into the impenetrable
darkness of their cave, not even daring to speak to
each other, hardly even to breathe. Wolfe gave a
low grumbling bark, and resumed his couchant pos-
ture, as if nothing worthy of his attention was near
to cause the disturbance. Catharine trembled and
wept, and prayed for safety against the Indians and
beasts of prey ; and Hector and Louis listened, till
they fell fast asleep in spite of their fears. In the
morning, it seemed as if they had dreamed some
terrible dream, so vague were their recollections of
the fright they had had; but the cause was soon
perceived. A large stone that had been heaved up
with the clay that adhered to the roots and fibres
had been loosened, and had fallen on the ground,
close to the spot where Catharine lay. So ponderous
was the mass, that had it struck her, death must
have been the consequence of the blow ; and Hector
and Louis beheld it with fear and amazement, while
Catharine regarded it as a proof of Divine mercy
and protection from Him in whose hand her safety
lay. The boys, warned by this accident, carefully
removed several large stones from the roof, and tried
the safety of the clay walls with a stout staff, to
ascertain that all was secure, before they again
ventured to sleep beneath this rugged canopy.

CHAPTER V.

" The soul of the wicked desireth evil : his neighbour flndeth no favour

in his eyes." — Proverbs.

OR several days they abstained from light-
ing a fire, lest the smoke should be seen;
but this the great height of the bank would
have effectually prevented. They suffered
much cold at night from the copious dew, which, even
on sultry summer evenings, is productive of much
chilling. They could not account for the fact that
the air at night was much warmer on the high hills
than in the low valleys ; they were even sensible of
a rush of heat as they ascended to the higher ground.
These simple children had not been taught that it is
the nature of the heated air to ascend, and its place
to be supplied by the colder and denser particles.
They noticed the effects, but understood nothing of
the causes that ruled them.

The following days they procured several par-
tridges, but feared to cook them; however, they
plucked them, split them open, and dried the flesh
for a future day. A fox or raccoon, attracted by the
smell of the birds, came one night and carried them
off, for in the morning they were gone. They saw

14S wolfe'b dibcotkbt.

several herd of deer crosaiog the plain, and one day
Wolfe tracked a wounded doe to a covert under

the poplars, near a hidden spring, where she had lain
herself down to die in peace, far from the haunts of
her fellows. The arrow was in her throat ; it was of

HECTOR BECOMES IMPATIENT. 143

white flint, and had evidently been sent from an
Indian bow. It was almost with fear and trembling
that they availed themselves of the venison thus
providentially thrown in their way, lest the Indians
should track the blood of the doe, and take vengeance
on them for appropriating it for their own use.
Not having seen anything of the Indians, who seemed
to confine themselves to the neighbourhood of the
lake, after many days had passed they began to
take courage, and even ventured to light an evening
fire, at which they cooked as much of the venison
as would last them for several days, and hung the
remaining portions above the smoke to preserve it
from injury.

One ruling Hector proclaimed his intention of
ascending the hills in the direction of the Indian
camp. " I am tired of remaining shut up in this dull
place, where we can see nothing but this dead flat,
bounded by those melancholy pines in the distance
that seem to shut us in."

Little did Hector know that beyond that dark ridge
of pine hills lay the home of their childhood, and but
a few miles of forest intervened to hide it from their
sight. Had he known it, how eagerly would his
feet have pressed onward in the direction of that
dark barrier of evergreens !

Thus is it often in this life: we wander on, sad and
perplexed, our path beset with thorns and briers.
We cannot see our way clear ; doubts and apprehen-
sions assail us. We know not how near we are to
the fulfilment of our wishes ; we see only the insur-

144 PRUDENT ADVIOB.

mountable barriers, the dark thickets and thorns of
our way ; and we know not how near we are to our
Father's home, where he is waiting to welcome the
wanderers of the flock back to the everlasting home,
the fold of the Good Shepherd.

Hector became impatient of the restraint that the
dread of the Indians imposed upon his movements ;
he wanted to see the lake again, and to roam abroad
free and xmcontroUed.

" After all," said he, " we never met with any ill-
treatment from the Indians that used to visit us at
Cold Springs; we may even find old friends and
acquaintances among them."

" The thing is possible, but not very likely," replied
Louis. " Nevertheless, Hector, I would not willingly
put myself in their power. The Indian has his own
notion of things, and might think himself quite
justified in killing us if he found us on his hunting-
grounds. I have heard my father say — ^and he knows
a great deal about these people — that their chiefs
are very strict in punishing any strangers that they
find killing game on their bounds uninvited. They
are both merciless and treacherous when angered,
and we could not even speak to them in their own
language, to explain by what evil chance we came
here."

This was very prudent of Louis, uncommonly so,
for one who was naturally rash and headstrong ; but
unfortunately Hector was inflexible and wilful.
When once he had made up his mind upon any point,
he had too good an opinion of bis own judgment to

Catharine's fears. 145

give it up. At last he declared his intention, rather
than remain a slave to such cowardly fears as he now
deemed them, to go forth boldly, and endeavour to
ascertain what the Indians were about, how many
there were of them, and what real danger was to be
apprehended from facing them.

" Depend upon it," he added, " cowards are never
safer than brave men. The Indians despise cowards,
and would be more likely to kill us if they found us
cowering here in this hole like a parcel of wolf-cubs,
than if we openly faced them and showed that we
neither feared them nor cared for them."

" Hector, dear Hector, be not so rash ! " cried his
sister, passionately weeping. "Ah! if we were to
lose you, what would become of us ? "

" Never fear, Kate ; I will run into no needless
danger. I know how to take care of myself. I am
of opinion that the Indian camp is broken up ; they
seldom stay long in one place. I will go over the
hills and examine the camp at a distance and the
lake shore. You and Louis may keep watch for my
return from the big pine that we halted under on our
way hither."

" But, Hector, if the savages should see you, and
take you prisoner," said Catharine, " what would you
do?"

" I will tell you what I Would do. Instead of
running away, I would boldly walk up to them, and
by signs make them understand that I am no scout,
but a friend in need of nothing but kindness and
friendship. I never yet heard of the Indian that
(721) -JO

146 THE HELPLE8B OXEL

would tomahawk the defenceless stranger that sought
his camp openly in peace and goodwill"

" If you do not return by sunset, Hector, we shall
believe that you have fallen into the hands of the
savages," said Catharine, mournfully regarding her
brother.

"If it were not for Catharine," said Louis, '^you
should not go aJone ; but if evil were to befall this
helpless one, her blood would be upon my head,
who led her out with us, tempting her with false
words."

** Never mind that now, dearest cousin," said Cath-
arine, tenderly laying her hand on his arm. '' It is
much better that we should have been all three
together ; I should never have been happy again if I
had lost both Hec and you. It is better as it is; you
and Hec would not have been so well oflF if I had not
been with you to help you, and keep up your spirits
by my songs and stories."

" It is true, ma chfere ; but that is the reason that
I am bound to take care of my little cousin, and I
could not consent to exposing you to danger, or leav-
ing you alone; so, if Hec will be so headstrong, I
will abide by you."

Hector was so confident that he should return
in safety, that at last Louis and Catharine became
more reconciled to his leaving them, and soon busied
themselves in preparing some squirrels that Louis had
brought in that morning.

The day wore away slowly, and many were the
anxious glances that Catharine cast over the crest of

' AT THE TRYSTING-TREE. 147

the high bank to watch for her brother's return. At
last, unable to endure the suspense, she with Louis
left the shelter of the valley; they ascended the high
ground, and bent their steps to the trysting-tree,
which commanded all the country within a wide
sweep.

A painful and oppressive sense of loneliness and
desolation came over the minds of the cousins as they
sat together at the foot of the pine, which cast its
lengthened shadow upon the ground before them.
The shades of evening were shrouding them, wrapping
the lonely forest in gloom. The full moon had not
yet risen, and they watched for the first gleam that
should break above the eastern hills to cheer them
as for the coming of a friend.

Sadly these two poor lonely ones sat hand in hand,
talking of the happy days of childhood, of the per-
plexing present and the uncertain future. At last,
wearied out with watching and anxiety, Catharine
leaned her head upon the neck of old Wolfe and fell
asleep, while Louis restlessly paced to and fro in front
of the sleeper; now straining his eyes to penetrate the
surrounding gloom, now straining his ears to catch the
first sound that might indicate the approach of his
absent cousin.

It was almost with a feeling of irritability that he
heard the quick sharp note of the wakeful " whip-
poor-will," as it flew from bough to bough of an old
withered tree beside him. Another, and again
another of these midnight watchers took up the
monotonous, never- varying cry of " Whip-poor-will,

148 DISCORDANT NIGHT-MINSTRELS.

Whip-poor-will ; " and then came forth, from many
a hollow oak and birch, the spectral night-hawk from
hidden dens, where it had lain hushed in silence all
day from dawn till sunset. Sometimes their sharp
hard wings almost swept his cheek as they wheeled
round and round in circles, first narrow, then wide,
and wider extending, till at last they soared far above
the tallest tree-tops, and laxmching out in the high
regions of the air, uttered from time to time a wild
shrill scream, or hollow booming sound, as they sud-
denly descended to pounce with wide-extended throat
upon some hapless moth or insect that sported all
unheeding in mid -air, happily unconscious of the
approach of so unerring a foe.

Petulantly Louis chid these discordant minstrels of
the night, and joyfully he hailed the first gush of
moonlight that rose broad and full and red over the
Oak Hills to the eastward.

Louis envied the condition of the unconscious
sleeper, who lay in happy forgetfulness of all her
sorrows, her fair curls spread in unbound luxuriance
over the dark shaggy neck of the faithful Wolfe, who
seemed as if proud of the beloved burden that rested
so trustingly upon him. Sometimes the careful dog
just unclosed his large eyes, raised his nose from
his shaggy paws, snuffed the night air, growled in
a sort of undertone, and then dozed again, but
watchfully.

It would be no easy task to tell the painful feelings
that agitated young Louis's breast. He was angry
with Hector for having thus madly, as he thought,

ON THE ALEBT. 149

rushed into danger. " It was wilful and almost cruel,"
he thought, " to leave them the prey of such torment-
ing fears on his account ;" and then the most painful
fears for the safety of his beloved companion took
the place of less kindly thoughts, and sorrow filled
his heart. The broad moon now flooded the hills
and vales with light, casting broad checkering shadows
of the old oaks* gray branches and now reddened
foliage across the ground.

Suddenly the old dog raises his head, and utters a
short half -angry note : slowly and carefully he rises,
disengaging himself gently from the form of the
sleeping girl, and stands forth in the full light of
the moon. It is an open cleared space, that mound
beneath the pine-tree; a few low shrubs and seedling
pines, with the slender waving branches of the late-
flowering pearly-tinted asters, the elegant fringed
' gentian with open bells of azure blue, the last and
loveliest of autumn flowers and winter - greens,
brighten the groxmd with wreaths of shining leaves
and red berries.

Louis is on the alert, though as yet he sees nothing.
It is not a full free note of welcome that Wolfe
gives; there is something uneasy and half angry in
his tone. Yet it is not fierce, like the bark of angry
defiance he gives when wolf, or bear, or wolverine is
near.

Louis steps forward from the shadow of the pine
branches to the edge of the inclined plane in the
foreground. The slow tread of approaching steps is
now distinctly heard advancing; it may be a deer.

150 A 8TRANQB COXPANIOIT.

Two figures approach, and Louis moves a little within
the shadow again. A clear shrill whistle meets his
car. It Is Hectors whistle, he knows that, and
assured by its cheerful tone, he springs forward, and
in an instant is at his side, but starts at the strange
companion that he half leads, half carries. The
moonlight streams broad and bright upon the shrink-
ing figure of an Indian girl apparently about the
same age as Catharine: her ashy face is concealed
by the long mass of raven black hair which falls
like a dark veil over her features ; her step is weak
and unsteady, and she seems ready to sink to the
earth with sickness or fatigue. Hector, too, seems
weary. The first words that Hector said were,
" Help me, Louis, to lead this poor girl to the foot
of the pine: I am so tired I can hardly walk another
step."

Louis and his cousin together carried the Indian
girl to the foot of the pine. Catharine was just rous^
ing herself from sleep, and she gazed with a bewil-
dered air on the strange companion that Hector had
brought with liim. The stranger lay down, and in a
few minutes sank into a sleep so profound it seemed
to resemble that of death itself. Pity and deep in-
terest soon took the place of curiosity and dread in
the heart of the gentle Catharine, and she watched
the young stranger s slumber as tenderly as though
she had been a sister or beloved friend, while Hector
proceeded to relate in what manner he had encoun-
tered the Indian girl.

"When I struck the high slope near the little

THE INDIAN BIRl.

birch grove ■« e called the Birken Shaw,' I paused to
examine if the council fires were still burning on

Bare Hill , but there was no smoke visible neither
was there a canoe to be seen at the lake shore
where Louis had described their landing-place at the

152 THE WOUNDED CAPTIVE.

mouth of tho creek. All seemed as silent and still
as if no human footstep had trodden the shore. I
sat down and watched for nearly an hour, till my
attention was attracted by a noble eagle, which was
sailing in wide circles over the tall pine-trees on
Bare Hill. Assured that the Indian camp was
broken up, and feeling some curiosity to examine the
spot more closely, I crossed the thicket of cranberries
and cedars and small underwood that fringed the
borders of the little stream, and found myself, after
a little pushing and scrambling, among the bushes at
the foot of tho hill.

" I thought it not impossible I might find some«
thing to repay me for my trouble, — flint arrow-
heads, a knife, or a tomahawk ; but I little thought
of what these cruel savages had left there, — a miser-
able wounded captive, bound by the long, locks of
her hair to the stem of a small tree ! Her hands and
feet were fastened by thongs of deer-skin to branches
of the tree, which had been bent downward for that
purpose. Her position was a most painful one. She
had evidently been thus left to perish by a miserable
death of hunger and thirst ; for these savages, with
a fiendish cruelty, had placed within sight of their
victim an earthen jar of water, some dried deers'
flesh, and a cob* of Indian com. I have the com
here," he added, putting his hand in his breast and
displaying it to view.

" Wounded she was, for I drew this arrow from
her shoulder," and he showed the flint head as he

* A head of the maize, or Indian corn, is called a " cob."

A TALK OP WOE. 153

spoke, " and fettered. With food and drink in sight
the poor girl was to perish, perhaps to become a
living prey to the eagle that I saw wheeling above
the hill-top. The poor thing's lips were black and
parched with pain and thirst. She turned her eyes
piteously from my face to the water-jar, as if to im-
plore a draught. This I gave her ; and then having
cooled the festering wound, and cut the thongs that
bound her, I wondered that she still kept the same
immovable attitude, and thinking she was stiff and
cramped with remaining so long bound in one posi-
tion, I took her two hands and tried to induce her to
move. I then for the first time noticed that she was
tied by the hair of her head to the tree against
which her back was placed. I was obliged to cut
the hair with my knife ; and this I did not do with-
out giving her pain, as she moaned impatiently. She
sank her head on her breast, and large tears fell over
my hands as I bathed her face and neck with the
water from the jar. She then seated herself on the
ground, and remained silent and still for the space
of an hour; nor could I prevail upon her to speak,
or quit the seat she had taken. Fearing that the
Indians might return, I watched in all directions,
and at last I began to think it would be best to
carry her in my arms ; but this I found no easy task,
for she seemed greatly distressed at any attempt I
made t6 lift her, and by her gestures I fancied she
thought I was going to kill her. At last my patience
began to be exhausted, but I did not like to annoy
her. I spoke to her as gently and soothingly as I

154 GENUINE SYMPATHY.

could. By degrees she seemed to listen with more
composure to me, though she evidently knew not a
word of what I said to her. She rose at last, and
taking my hands, placed them above her head,
stooping low as she did so ; and this seemed to mean
she was willing at last to submit to my wishes. I
lifted her from the ground, and carried her for some
little way ; but she was too heavy for me. She then
suffered me to lead her along whithersoever I would
take her; but her steps were so slow and feeble
through weakness, that many times I was compelled
to rest while she recovered herself. She seems quite
subdued now, and as quiet as a lamb."

Catharine listened, not without tears of genuine
sympathy, to the recital of her brother's adventures.
She seemed to think he had been inspired by God to
go forth that day to the Indian camp to rescue the
poor forlorn one from so dreadful a death.

Louis's sympathy was also warmly aroused for the
young savage, and he commended Hector for his
bravery and humanity.

He then set to work to light a good fire, which
was a great addition to their comfort as well as
cheerfulness. They did not go back to their cave
beneath the upturned trees to sleep, preferring lying,
with their feet to the fire, under the shade of the
pine. Louis, however, was despatched for water and
venison for supper.

The following morning, by break of day, they
collected their stores, and conveyed them back to
the shanty. The boys were thus employed while

TENDING THE WOUNDED GIRL. 165

Catharine watched beside the wounded Indian girl,
whom she tended with the greatest care. She
bathed the inflamed arm with water, and bound the
cool healing leaves of the tacarriahac* about it with
the last fragment of her apron ; she steeped dried
berries in water, and gave the cooling drink to
quench the fever-thirst that burned in her veins and
glittered in her full soft melancholy dark eyes, which
were raised at intervals to the face of her youthful
nurse with a timid hurried glance, as if she longed
yet feared to say, " Who are you that thus tenderly
bathe my aching head, and strive to soothe my
wounded limbs, and cool my fevered blood ? Are
you a creature like myself, or a being sent by the
Great Spirit from the far-off happy land to which my
fathers have gone, to smooth my path of pain, and
lead me to those blessed fields of sunbeams and
flowers where the cruelty of the enemies of my
people will no more have power to torment me ? "

* Indian balsam.

CHAPTER VI.

" Here the wren of softest note

Builds its nest and warbles well;
Here the blackbird strains his throat:
Welcome, welcome to our celL**— €k>LKBiDOX.

HE day was far advanced before the sick
Indian girl could be brought home to their
sylvan lodge, where Catharine made up a
comfortable couch for her with boughs
and grass, and spread one of the deer-skins over it,
and laid her down as tenderly and carefully as if she
had been a dear sister. This good girl was over-
joyed at having found a companion of her own age
and sex. " Now," said she, " I shall no more be
lonely ; I shall have a companion and friend to talk
to and assist me." But when she turned in the
fulness of her heart to address herself to the young
stranger, she felt herself embarrassed in what way
to make her comprehend the words she used to
express the kindness that she felt for her and her
sorrow for her sufferings.

The young stranger would raise her head, look in-
tently at her as if striving to interpret her words,
then sadly shake her head, and utter her words in

A SILENT GUEST. 157

her own plaintive language, but, alas ! Catharine felt
it was to her as a sealed book.

She tried to recall some Indian words of familiar
import that she had heard from the Indians when
they came to her father's house, but in vain. Not
the simplest phrase occurred to her, and she almost
cried with vexation at her own stupidity. Neither
was Hector or Louis more fortunate in attempts at
conversing with their guest.

At the end of three days the fever began to abate:
the restless eye grew more steady in its gaze, the
dark flush faded from the cheek, leaving it of a gray
ashy tint, not the hue of health, such as even the
swarthy Indian shows, but wan and pallid, her eyes
bent mournfully on the ground.

She would sit quiet and passive while Catharine
bound up the long tresses of her hair, and smoothed
them with her hands and the small wooden comb
that Louis had cut for her use. Sometimes she
would raise her eyes to her new friend's face with a
quiet sad smile, and once she took her hands within
her own and gently pressed them to her breast and
lips and forehead, in token of gratitude ; but she
seldom gave utterance to any words, and would
remain with her eyes fixed vacantly on some object
which seemed unseen, or to awaken no idea in her
mind. At such times the face of the young squaw
wore a dreamy apathy of expression, or rather it
might with more propriety have been said the
absence of all expression, almost as blank as that of
an infant of a few weeks old.

158 MUTUAL IN8TRUCTI0V.

How intently did Catharine study that face, and
Htrivc to read wliat was passing within her mind!
How did the lively intelligent Canadian girl, the
offspring of a more intellectual race, long to instruct
her Indian friend, to enlarge her mind by pointing
out such things to her attention as she herself took
interest in ! She would then repeat the name of the
object that she showed her several times over, and
by degrees the young squaw learned the names of
all the familiar hoasehold articles about the shanty,
and could repeat them in her own soft plaintive
tone ; and when she had learned a new word, and
could pronounce it distinctly, she would laugh, and
a gleam of innocent joy and pleasure would lighten
up her fine dark eyes, generally so fixed and sad-
looking.

It was Catharine's delight to teach her pupil to
speak a language familiar to her own ears. She
would lead her out among the trees, and name to her
all the natural objects that presented themselves to
view. And she in her turn made " Indiana " (for so
they named the young scjuaw, after a negress that
she had heard her father tell of, a nurse to one of his
coloners infant children) tell her the Indian names
for each object they saw. Indiana soon began to
enjoy in her turn the amusement arising from in-
structing Catharine and the boys, and often seemed
to enjoy the blunders they made in pronouncing the
words she taught them. When really interested in
anything that was going on, her eyes would beam
out, and her smile gave an inexpressible charm to

THE YOUNG SQUAW'S "DARK HOURS," 159

her face ; for her lips were red, and her teeth even
and brilliantly white, so purely white that Catharine
thought she had never seen any so beautiful in her
life before. At such times her face was joyous and
innocent as a little child's ; but there were also hours
of gloom, that transformed it into an expression of
sullen apathy. Then a dull glassy look took posses-
sion of her eye, the full lip drooped, and the form
seemed rigid and stiff. Obstinate determination
neither to move nor speak characterized her in what
Louis used to call the young squaw's " dark hour."
Then it was that the savage nature seemed pre-
dominant, and her gentle nurse almost feared to
look at her proUgde or approach her.

" Hector," said Louis, " you spoke about a jar of
water being left at the camp. The jar would be
a great treasure to us. Let us go over for it."
Hector assented to the proposal. "And we may
possibly pick up a few grains of Indian com, to add
to what you showed us."

" If we are here in the spring," said Hector, " you
and I will prepare a small patch of ground and
plant it with this com ; " and he sat down on the
end of a log and began carefully to count the rows
of grain on the cob, and then each com, grain by
grain. " Three hundred and ten sound grains. Now
if every one of these produce a strong plant, we
shall have a great increase, and besides seed for an-
other year, there will be, if it is a good year, several
bushels to eat."

" We shall have a glorious summer, mon ami, no

160 VISIT TO THE DBSEKTKD OAHP.

doubt, and a fine flourishing crop ; and Kate ia a
good hand at making suppome,"*
" You forget we have no porridge pot"
" I was thinking of that Indian jar all the time.
You will see what
fine cookerywewill
make when we get
it, if it will but
stand fire. Corner
let us be off; I am
impatient till wb
get it home ; " and
Louis, who had now
a new crotchet at
work in his fertile
and vivaciouB brain,
walked and danced
along at a rate
which proved a
great disturbance
to his graver com-
panion, who tried
to keep down his
cousin's lively spirits by suggesting the probability of
the jar being cracked, or that the Indians might Iwve
returned for it ; but Louis was not one of the doubt-
ing sort, and was right in not damping the ardour of
his mind by causele&s fears. The jar was there at
the deserted camp, and though it had been knocked

A RUDE PIECE OF POTTERY. 161

over by some animal, it was sound and strong, and
excited great speculation in the two cousins as to the
particular material of which it was made, as it was
unlike any sort of pottery they had ever before seen.
It seemed to have been manufactured from some
very dark red earth, or clay mixed up with pounded
granite, as it presented the appearance of some coarse
crystals. It was very hard and ponderous, and the
surface was marked over in a rude sort of pattern,
as if punctured and scratched with some pointed
instrument. It seemed to have been hardened by
fire, and, from the smoked hue of one side, had
evidently done good service as a cooking utensil.
Subsequently they learned the way in which it was
used.* The jar, being placed near but not on the fire,
was surroimded by hot embers, and the water made
to boil by stones being made red hot and plunged
into it. In this way soups and other food were pre-
pared and kept stewing, with no further trouble,
after once the simmering began, than adding a few
fresh embers at the side farthest from the fire. A
hot stone, also, placed on the top, facilitated the
cooking process.

Louis, who like all French people was addicted to
cookery, — ^indeed it was an accomplishment he prided
himself on,— was enchanted with the improvement
made in their diet by the acquisition of the said
earthen jar, or pipkin, and gave Indiana some praise

* Pieces of this rude pottery are often found along the shores of the inland
lakes, but I have never met with any of the perfect vessels in use with the
Indians, who probably find it now ea^er to supply themselves with iron pots
and crockery from the towns of the European setUers.

(721) 11

162 WHAT OATHARINB LEARNED FROM INDIANA.

for initiating his cousin in the use of it. Catharine
and Hector declared that he went out with his bow
and arrows, and visited his dead-faUs aad snares, ten
times oftener than he used to do, just for the sake
of proving the admirable properties of this precious
utensil, and finding out some new way of dressing his
game.

At all events, there was a valuable increase of furs,
for making up into clothing, caps, leggings, mitts, and
other articles.

From the Indian girl Catharine learned the value
of many of the herbs and shrubs that grew in her
path, the bark and leaves of various trees, and many
dyes she could extract, with which she stained the
quills of the porcupine and the strips of the wood of
which she made baskets and mats. The little creep-
ing winter -green,* with its scarlet berries, that grows
on the dry flats or sandy hills, which the Canadians
call spice-berry, she showed them was good to eat ;
and she would crush the leaves, draw forth their fine
aromatic flavour in her hands, and then inhale their
fragrance with delight. She made an infusion of the
leaves, and drank it as a tonic. The inner bark of
the wild black cherry she said was good to cure ague
and fever. The root of the bitter-sweet she scraped
down and boiled in the deer-fat, or the fat of any
other animal, and made an ointment that possessed
very healing qualities, especially as an immediate
application to fresh bums.

Sometimes she showed a disposition to mystery,

* Gaultheria proctmibenSt^tpice winter-green.

Indiana's mental faculties. 163

and would conceal the knowledge of the particular
herbs she made use of ; and Catharine several times
noticed that she would go out and sprinkle a portion
of the food she had assisted her in preparing, on the
earth, or under some of the trees or bushes. When
she was more familiar with their language, she told
Catharine this was done in token of gratitude to the
Good Spirit, who had given them success in hunting
or trapping ; or else it was to appease the malice of
the EvU Spirit, who might bring mischief or loss to
them, or sickness or death, unless his forbearance was
purchased by some particular mark of attention.

Attention, memory, and imitation appeared to form
the three most remarkable of the mental faculties
developed by the Indian girl. She examined (when
once her attention was roused) any object with criti-
cal minuteness. Any knowledge she had once acquired
she retained; her memory was great, she never missed
a path she had once trodden; she seemed even to
single out particular birds in a flock, to know them
from their companions. Her powers of imitation
were also great. She brought patience and persever-
ance to assist her : when once thoroughly interested
in any work she began, she would toil on untiringly
till it was completed ; and then what triumph shone
in her eyes! At such times they became darkly
brilliant with the joy that filled her heart. But she
possessed little talent for invention; what she had
seen done, after a few imperfect attempts, she could
do again, but she rarely struck out any new path for
herself.

164 PBOorg of oratittde.

At times she was docile and even plaTful, and
appeared grat«ful for the kindness with which she
was treated ; each day seemed to increase her fond-
ness for Catharine, and she appeared to delight in
doing any little service to please and gratify her; but
it was towards Hector that she displayed the deepest
feeling of affection and respect. It was to him her
first tribute of fruit, or
flowers, furs, moccasins^
or ornamental plumage
of rare birds, was offered.
She seemed to turn to
him as to a master and
protector. He was in
her eyes the "chief" the
head of his tribe. His
bow was strung by her,
and stained with quaint
figures and devices ; his
arrows were carved by her ; the sheath of deer-skin
he carried his knife in was made and ornamented
by her hands ; also, the case for his arrows, of birch-
bark, she wrought with especial neatness, aud sus-
pended by thongs to his neck when he was preparing
to go out in search of game. She gave him the name
of the " Young Eagle," while she called Louis " Nee-
chee," or " Friend ; " to Catharine she gave the
poetical name of "Music of the Winds," — Mad-
loaosk.

When they asked her to tell them her own name,
she would bend down her head in sorrow and refuse

A MUTE FAVOURITE. 165

to pronounce it. She soon answered to the name of
Indiana, and seemed pleased with the sound.

But of all the household, next to Hector, old Wolfe
was her greatest favourite. At first, it is true, the
old dog regarded the new inmate with a jealous eye,
and seemed imeasy when he saw her approach to
caress him ; but Indiana soon reconciled him to her
person, and a mutual friendly feeling became estab-
lished between them, which seemed daily and hourly
to increase, greatly to the delight of the young
stranger. She would seat herself Eastern fashion,
cross-legged on the floor of the shanty, with the
capacious head of the old dog in her lap, and address
herself to this mute companion in wailing tones, as
if she would unburden her heart by pouring into
his unconscious ear her tale of desolation and
woe.

Catharine was always very particular and punctual
in performing her personal ablutions, and she inti-
mated to Indiana that it was good for her to do the
same. The yoimg girl seemed reluctant to follow
her example, till daily custom had reconciled her to
what she evidently at first regarded as an unnecessary
ceremony ; but she soon took pleasure in dressing her
dark hair, and suffering Catharine to braid it and
polish it till it looked glossy and soft. Indiana in
her turn would adorn Catharine with the wings of
the blue-bird or red-bird, the crest of the wood-duck,
or quill feathers of the golden-winged flicker, which
is called in the Indian tongue the shot-bird, in
allusion to the round spots on its cream-coloured

166 USEFUL OCCUPATIONS.

breast.* It was not in tliese things alone she indi-
cated her grateful sense of the sisterly kindness that
her young hostess showed to her; she soon learned
to lighten her labours in every household work, and
above all, she spent her time most usefully in manu-
facturing clothing from the skins of the wild animals,
and in teaching Catharine how to fit and prepare
them : but these were the occupations of the winter
months.

* The golden-winged flicker belongs to a rob-geniu of woodpeckers; it is very
handsome, and is said to be eatable ; it lives on fmits and insects.

CHAPTER VIL

" Go to the &nt.*'— Proverbs.

T was now the middle of September. The
weather, which had continued serene
and beautiful for some time, with dewy
nights and misty mornings, began to show
symptoms of the change of season usual at the ap-
proach of the equinox. Sudden squalls of wind, with
hasty showers, would come sweeping over the lake ;
the nights and mornings were damp and chilly.
Already the tints of autumn were beginning to crim-
son the foliage of the oaks, and where the islands
were visible, the splendid colours of the maple shone
out in gorgeous contrast with the deep verdure of the
evergreens and light golden-yellow of the poplar; but
lovely as they now looked, they had not yet reached the
meridian of their beauty, which a few frosty nights
at the close of the month were destined to bring to
perfection — a glow of splendour to gladden the eye
for a brief space, before the rushing winds and rains
of the following month were to sweep them away
and scatter them abroad upon the earth.

One morning, after a night of heavy rain and wind,

168 THE TEMPEST-DRIVEX CANOE.

the two boys went down to sec if the lake was cahn
enough for trying the raft, which Louis had finished
before the coming on of the bad weather. The water
was rough and crested with mimic waves, and they
felt indisposed to launch the raft on so stormy a sur-
face, but stood looking out over the lake and admir-
ing the changing foliage, when Hector pointed out
to his cousin a dark speck dancing on the waters,
between the two nearest islands. The wind, which
blew very strong still from the north-east, brought
the object nearer every minute. At first they thought
it might be a pine-branch that was floating on the
surface, when as it came bounding over the waves,
they perceived that it was a birch canoe, but impelled
by no visible arm. It was a strange sight upon that
lonely lake to see a vessel of any kind afloat, and,
on first deciding that it was a canoe, the boys were
inclined to hide themselves among the bushes, for
fear of the Indians ; but curiosity got the better of
their fears.

" The owner of yonder little craft is either asleep
or absent from her; for I see no paddle, and it is
evidently drifting without any one to guide it," said
Hector, after intently watching the progress of the
tempest-driven canoe. Assured as it approached
nearer that such was the case, they hurried to the
beach just as a fresh gust had lodged the canoe
among the branches of a fallen cedar which projected
out some way into the water.

By creeping along the trunk of the tree, and trust-
ing at times to the projecting boughs, Louis, who was

<<OOME QUIOKLT, AND SEB MY TRSASURE&" 169

the most active and the lightest of weight, succeeded
in getting within reach of the canoe, and with some
trouble and the help of a stout branch that Hector
handed to him, he contrived to moor her in safety on
the shore, taking the precaution of hauling her well
up on the shingle, lest the wind and water should
set her afloat again. "Hec, there is something in
this canoe, the sight of which will gladden your
heart," cried Louis, with a joyful look. "Come
quickly, and see my treasures ! "

" Treasures ! You may well call them treasures,"
exclaimed Hector, as he helped Louis to examine the
contents of the canoe and place them on the shore
side by side.

The boys could hardly find words to express their
joy and surprise at the discovery of a large jar of
parched rice, a tomahawk, an Indian blanket almost
as good as new, a large mat rolled up, with a bass-
bark rope several yards in length wound round it,
and, what was more precious than all, an iron three-
legged pot in which was a quantity of Indian com.
These articles had evidently constituted the stores of
some Indian hunter or trapper: possibly the canoe
had been imperfectly secured, and had drifted from
its moorings during the gale of the previous night,
unless by some accident the owner had fallen into
the lake and been drowned. This was of course
only a matter of conjecture on which it was useless
to speculate, and the boys joyfully took possession of
the good fortune that had so providentially been
wafted, as it were, to their very feet.

170 " WHAT A GRAND POT I "

"It was a capital chance for us, that old cedar
having been blown down last night just where it was,"
said Louis; ''for if the canoe had not been drawn
into the eddy, and stopped by the branches, we might
have lost it. I trembled, when I saw the wind driv-
ing it on so rapidly, that it would founder in the deep
water or go off to Long Island."

" I think we should have got it at Pine-tree Pointy"
said Hector; "but I am glad it was lodged so cleverly
among the cedar boughs. I was half afraid you
would have fallen in once or twice when you were
trying to draw it nearer to the shore."

" Never fear for me, my friend ; I can cling like a
wild cat when I climb. But what a grand pot!
What delightful soups, and stews, and boils Catharine
will make ! Hurrah ! " and Louis tassed up the new
fur cap he had made with great skill from an entire
fox -skin, and cut sundry fantastic capers which
Hector gravely condemned as unbecoming his mature
age (Louis was turned of fifteen) ; but with the
joyous spirit of a little child he sang and danced, and
laughed and shouted, till the lonely echoes of the
islands and far-off hills returned the unusual sounds,
and even his more steady cousin caught the infection
and laughed to see Louis so elated.

Leaving Hector to guard the prize, Louis ran gaily
off to fetch Catharine to share his joy and come and
admire the canoe, and the blanket, and the tripod,
and the corn, and the tomahawk. Indiana accom-
panied them to the lake shore, and long and carefully
she examined the canoe and its contents, and many

THE MYSTERY SOLVED. 171

were the plaintive exclamations she uttered as she sur-
veyed the things piece by piece, till she took notice of
the broken handle of an Indian paddle which lay at
the bottom of the vessel : this seemed to afford some
solution to her of the mystery, and by broken words
and sigjis she intimated that the paddle had possibly
brokefia the hand of the Indiaoi and that in endeav-
ouring to regain the other part, he had lost his
balance and been drowned. She showed Hector a
rude figure of a bird engraved with some sharp instru-
ment, and rubbed in with a blue colour. This she
said was the totem or crest of the chief of the tribe,
and was meant to represent a crow. The canoe had
belonged to a chief of that name.

While they were dividing the contents of the
canoe among them to be carried to the shanty,
Indiana, taking up the bass-rope and the blanket,
bundled up the most of the things, and adjusting the
broad thick part of the rope to the front of her
head, she bore off the burden with as great apparent
ease as a London or an Edinburgh porter would his
tnmks and packages, turning round with a merry
glance and repeating some Indian words with a lively
air as she climbed the steep bank, and soon distanced
her companions, to her great delight. That night
Indiana cooked some of the parched rice, Indian
fashion, with venison, and they enjoyed the novelty
very much; it made an excellent substitute for
bread, of which they had been so long deprived.

Indiana gave them to understand that the rice
harvest would soon be ready on the lake, and that

172 IMPORTANT ACQUISITIONS.

now they had got a canoe, they would go out and
gather it, and so lay by a store to last them for many
months.

This little incident furnished the inhabitants of the
shanty with frequent themes for discussion. Hector
declared that the Indian com was the most valuable
of their acquisitions. " It will insure us a crop and
bread and seed-corn for many years," he said. He
also highly valued the tomahawk, as his axe was
worn and blunt. Louis was divided between the
iron pot and the canoe. Hector seemed to think the
raft might have formed a substitute for the latter;
besides, Indiana had signified her intention of helping
him to make a canoe. Catharine declared in favour
of the blanket, as it would make, after thorough
ablutions, warm petticoats with tight bodices for her-
self and Indiana. With deer-skin leggings and a fur
jacket, they should be comfortably clad. Indiana
thought the canoe the most precious, and was charmed
with the good jar and the store of rice ; nor did she
despise the packing-rope, which she soon showed was
of use in carrying burdens from place to place, Indian
fashion. By placing a pad of soft fur in front of the
head, she could carry heavy loads with great ease.
The mat, she said, would be useful for drying the
rice she meant to store.

The next day after this adventure, the two girls
set to work, and with the help of Louis's large knife,
which was called into requisition as a substitute
for scissors, they cut out the blanket dresses, and in
a short time made two comfortable and not very

THE RIOE-HARVEST. 178

unsightly garments. The full, short, plaited skirts
reached a little below the knees; light vests, bordered
with fur, completed the upper part ; and leggings,
terminated at the ankles by knotted fringes of doe-
skin, with moccasins turned over with a band of
squirrel fur, completed the novel costume; and many
a glance of innocent satisfaction did our young dam-
sels cast upon each other, when they walked forth in
the pride of girlish vanity to display their dresses to
Hector and Louis, who, for their part, regarded them
as most skilful dressmakers, and were never tired of
admiring and commending their ingenuity in the
making and fitting, considering what rude imple-
ments they were obliged to use in the cutting out and
sewing of the garments.

The extensive rice-beds on the lake had now begun
to assume a golden tinge, which contrasted very
delightfully with the deep-blue waters, looking, when
lighted up by the sunbeams, like islands of golden-
coloured sand. The ears, heavy laden with the ripe
grain, drooped towards the water. The time of the
rice-harvest was at hand, and with light and joyous
hearts our young adventurers launched the canoe,
and, guided in their movements by the little squaw,
paddled to the extensive aquatic fields to gather it
in, leaving Catharine and Wolfe to watch their pro-
ceedings from the raft, which Louis had fastened to
a young tree that projected out over the lake, and
which made a good landing-place, likewise a wharf
where they could stand and fish very comfortably.
As the canoe could not be overloaded on account of

174 RIOE-OATHERIVa

the rice-gathering, Catharine very readily consented
to employ herself with fishing from the raft till their
return.

The manner of procuring the rice was very simple.
One person steered the canoe with the aid of the
paddle along the edge of the rice-beds, and another
with a stick in one hand, and a curved sharp-edged
paddle in the other, struck the heads off as they
bent them over the edge of the stick ; the chief art
was in letting the heads fall into the canoe, which a
little practice soon enabled them to do as expertly as
the mower lets the grass faU in ridges beneath his
scythe.

Many bushels of wild rice were thus collected.
Nothing could be more delightful than this sort of
work to our young people, and merrily they worked,
and laughed and sang as they came home eadi day
with their light bark laden with a store of grain
which they knew would preserve them from starving
through the long, dreary winter that was coming on.

The canoe was a source of great comfort and
pleasure to them. They were now able to paddle
out into the deep water and fish for masquinonjfe
and black bass, which they caught in great numbers.
Indiana seemed quite another creature when, armed
with a paddle of her own carving, she knelt at the
head of the canoe and sent it flying over the water ;
then her dark eyes, often so vacant and glassy,
sparkled with delight, and her teeth gleamed with
ivory whiteness as her face broke into smiles and
dimples.

" EVERY ONE TO HIS CRAFT." 175

It was delightful then to watch this child of
nature, and see how innocently happy she could be
when rejoicing in the excitement of healthy exercise,
and elated by a consciousness of the power she
possessed of excelling her companions in feats of
strength and skill which they had yet to acquire by
imitating her.

Even Louis was obliged to confess that the young
savage knew more of the management of a canoe, and
the use of the bow and arrow and the fishing-line,
than either himself or his cousin. Hector was lost
in admiration of her skill in all these things, and
Indiana rose highly in his estimation, the more he
saw of her usefulness.

"Every one to his craft," said Louis, laughing.
" The little squaw has been brought up in the know-
ledge and practice of such matters from her baby-
hood ; perhaps if we were to set her to knitting and
spinning, milking cows, and house-work, and learning
to read, I doubt if she would prove half as quick as
Cathajrine or Mathilde."

" I wonder if she knows anything of God or our
Saviour," said Hector thoughtfully.

"Who should have taught her? for the Indians
are all heathens," replied Louis.

" I have heard my dear mother say the missionaries
have taken great pains to teach the Indian children
about Quebec and Montreal, and that so far from
being stupid, they learn very readily," said Cath-
arine.

" We must try and make Indiana learn to say her

176 A LABOUR OF LOVE.

prayers. She sits quite still, and seems to take no
notice of what we are doing when we kneel down
before we go to bed," observed Hector.

" She cannot understand what we say," said Cath-
arine ; " for she knows so little of our language yet,
that of course she cannot comprehend the prayers,
which are in other sort of words than what we use
in speaking of hunting, and fishing, and cooking, and
such matters."

"Well, when she knows more of our way of speak-
ing, then we must teach her. It is a sad thing for
Christian children to live with an untaught pagan,"
said Louis, who, being rather bigoted in his creed.
felt a sort of uneasiness in his own mind at the poor
girl's total want of the rites of his church; but
Hector and Catharine regarded her ignorance with
feelings of compassionate interest, and lost no oppor-
tunity of trying to enlighten her darkened mind on
the subject of belief in the God who made and the
Lord who saved them. Simply and earnestly they
entered into the task as a labour of love; and though
for a long time Indiana seemed to pay little attention
to what they said, by slow degrees the good seed
took root and brought forth fruit worthy of Him
whose Spirit poured the beams of spiritual light into
her heart. But my young readers must not imagine
these things were the work of a day : the process
was slow, and so were the results, but they were good
in the end.

Catharine was glad when, after many months of
patient teaching, the Indian girl asked permission to

A PRIMITIVE KILN. 177

kneel down with her white friend and pray to the
Great Spirit and his Son in the same words that
Christ Jesus gave to his disciples; and if the full
meaning of that holy prayer, so full of humility and
love and moral justice, was not fully understood by
her whose lips repeated it, yet even the act of worship
and the desire to do that which she had been told
was right were, doubtless, sacrifices better than the
pagan rites which that yoimg girl had witnessed
among her father's people, who, blindly following the
natural impulse of man in his depraved nature, re-
garded bloodshed and cruelty as among the highest
of human virtues, and gloried in those deeds of
vengeance at which the Christian mind revolts with
horror.

Indiana took upon herself the management of the
rice, drying, husking, and storing it, the two lads
working under her direction. She caused several
forked stakes to be cut, sharpened, and driven into the
ground. On these were laid four poles, so as to form
a frame. Over it she stretched the bass-mat, which
she secured by means of forked pegs to the frame.
On the mat she then spread out the rice thinly, and
lighted a fire beneath, taking good care not to let the
flame set fire to the mat, the object being rather to
keep up a strong, slow heat by means of the red
embers. She next directed the boys to supply her
with pine or cedar boughs, which she stuck in close
together, so as to enclose the fire within the area of
the stakes. This was done to concentrate the heat
and cause it to bear upwards with more power, the

(721) 12

178 PBEPARiyO AKD STORING BICE.

rice being frequently stirred with a sort of long-
handled, flat shovel. After the rice was sufficiently
dried, the next thing to be done was separating it
from the husk. This was effected by putting it, in
small quantities, into the iron pot, and with a sort of
wooden pestle or beetle rubbing it round and round
against the sides.* If they had not had the iron pot,
a wooden trough must have been substituted in its
stead.

When the rice was husked, the loose chaff was
winnowed from it in a flat basket like a sieve; and it
was then put by in coarse birch baskets, roughly
sewed with leather -wood bark, or bags made of
matting woven by the little squaw from the cedar-
bark. A portion was also parched, which was simply
done by putting the rice dry into the iron pot, and
setting it on hot embers, stirring the grain till it
burst ; it was then stored by for use. Rice thus pre-
pared is eaten dry, as a substitute for bread, by the
Indians.

The lake was now swarming with wild-fowl of
various kinds : crowds of ducks were winging their
way across it from morning till night, floating" in vast
flocks upon its surface, or rising in noisy groups if an
eagle or fish-hawk appeared sailing with slow, majestic
circles above them, then settling down with noisy
splash upon the calm water. The shores, too, were
covered with these birds, feeding on the fallen acorns
which fell ripe and brown with every passing breeze.

* The Indians often make use of a very rude, primitive sort of mortar, by
hollowing out a bass-wood stomp, and rubbing the rice with a wooden^ pounder.

*' YOUR HBAVENLT FATHEB FEEDETH THEM." 1*79

The berries of the dogwood also furnished them with
food ; "but the wild rice seemed the great attraction,
and small shell-fish and the larvae of many insects
that had been dropped into the waters, there to come
to perfection in due season, or to form a provision for
myriads of wild-fowl that had come from the far
north-west to feed upon them, guided by that instinct
which has so beautifully been termed by one of our
modem poetesses, —

" God's gift to the weak." *
* Mrs. Sonthejr.

CHAPTER VIII.

" Oh, come and hear what cruel wrongs
Befell the Dark Ladye." — Coleridge.

HE Mohawk girl was in high spirits at the
coming of the wild-fowl to the lake ; she
would clap her hands and laugh with al-
most childish glee as she looked at them
darkening the lake like clouds resting on its surface.
" If I had but my father's gun, his good old gun,
now!" would Hector say, as he eyed the timorous
flocks as they rose and fell upon the lake; "but these
foolish birds are so shy they are away before an
arrow can reach them."

Indiana smiled in her quiet way; she was busy
filling the canoe with green boughs, which she
arranged so as completely to transform the little
vessel into the semblance of a floating island of ever-
green. Within this bower she motioned Hector to
crouch down, leaving a small space for the free use of
his bow ; while concealed at the prow she gently and
noiselessly paddled the canoe from the shore among
the rice-beds, letting it remain stationary or merely
rocking to and fro with the undulatory motion of the
waters.

AM tNDIAH STRATAQEH.

The unsuapecting birds, deceived into full security,
eagerly pursued their pastime or their prey, and it

was no difficult matter for the hidden archer to hit
many a black duck, or teal, or whistlewing, as it
floated securely on the placid water, or rose to shift

182 INDIAN SUPERSTITION.

its place a few yards up or down the stream. Soon
the lake around was strewed with the feathered
game, which Wolfe, cheered on by Louis, who was
stationed on the shore, brought to land.

Indiana told Hector that this was the season when
the Indians made great gatherings on the lake for
duck-shooting, which they pursued much after the
same fashion as that which has been described, only
instead of one, a dozen or more canoes would be thus
disguised with boughs, with others stationed at
different parts of the lake, or under the shelter of the
island, to collect the birds. This sport generally con-
cluded with a great feast.

The Indians offered the first of the birds as an
oblation to the Great Spirit, as a grateful acknow-
ledgment of his boimty in having allowed them to
gather food thus plentifully for their families. Some-
times distant tribes with whom they were on terms
of friendship were invited to share the sport and par-
take of the spoils.

Indiana could not understand why Hector did not
follow the custom of her Indian fathers, and offer the
first duck or the best fish to propitiate the Great Spirit.
Hector told her that the God he worshipped desired
no sacrifice ; that his holy Son, when he came down
from heaven and gave himself as a sacrifice for the
sin of the world, had satisfied his Father, the Great
Spirit, an hundredfold.

They feasted now continually upon the water-fowl,
and Catharine learned from Indiana how to skin
them, and so preserve the feathers for making tippets.

THE OATHERINQ OF THE TRIBES. 183

and bonnets, and ornamental trimmings, which are
not only warm, .but light and very becoming. They
split open the birds they did not require for present
consumption, and dried them for winter store, smok-
ing some after the manner the Shetlanders and the
Orkney people smoke the solan geese. Their shanty
displayed an abundant store of provisions — ^fish, flesh,
and fowl, besides baskets of wild rice and bags of
dried fruit.

One day Indiana came in from the brow of the hill,
and told the boys that the lake eastward was covered
with canoes; she showed, by holding up her two
hands and then three fingers, that she had counted
thirteen. The tribes had met for the annual duck-
feast and the rice-harvest. She advised them to put
out the fire, so that no smoke might be seen to
attract them ; but said they would not leave the lake
for hunting over the plains just then, as the camp
was lower down on the point* east of the mouth of
a big river, which she called " Otonabee."

Hector asked Indiana if she would go away and
leave them in the event of meeting with any of her
own tribe. The girl cast her eyes on the earth in
silence; a dark cloud seemed to gather over her
face.

" If they should prove to be any of your father's
people, or a friendly tribe, would you go away with

* This point, commonly known as Anderson's Pointy now the seat of an Indian
village, used in former times to be a great place of rendezvous for the Indians,
and was the scene of a murderous carnage or massacre that took place about eighty
years ago : the war- weapons and bones of the Indians are often turned up with
the plough at this day.

184 "the ojebwas cut off my father's people."

them?" be again repeated; to which she solemnly
replied, —

"Indiana has no father, no tribe, no people; no
blood of her father warms the heart of any man,
woman, or child, saving herself alone. But Indiana
is a brave, and the daughter of a brave, and will not
shrink from danger : her heart is warm ; red blood
flows warm here," and she laid her hand on her heart.
Then lifting up her hand, she said in slow but
impassioned tone, " They left not one drop of living
blood to flow in any veins but these." She raised her
eyes, and stretched her arms upwards toward heaven,
as though calling down vengeance on the murderers
of her father s house.

"My father was a Mohawk, the son of a great
chief, who owned these hunting-grounds far as your
eye can see to the rising and setting sun, along the
big waters of the big lakes ; but the Ojebwas, a por-
tion of the Chippewa nation, by treachery cut off* my
father's people by hundreds in cold blood, when they
were defenceless and at rest. It was a bloody day
and a bloody deed. '

Instead of hiding herself, as Hector and Louis
strongly advised the young Mohawk to do, she pre-
ferred remaining, as a scout, she said, under the cover
of the bushes on the edge of the steep that overlooked
the lake, to watch the movements of the Indians. She
told Hector to be under no apprehension if they came
to the hut ; not to attempt to conceal themselves, but
offer them food to eat and water to drink. " If they
come to the house and find you away, they will take

THE INDIANS AT THE LAKE. 185

yonr stores and bum your roof, suspecting that you
are afraid to meet them openly ; but they will not
harm you if you meet them with open hand and
fearless brow : if they eat of your bread, they will
not harm you ; me they would kill by a cruel death
— ^the war-knife is in their heart against the daughter
of the brave."

The boys thought Indiana's advice good, and they
felt no fear for themselves, only for Catharine,
whom they counselled to remain in the shanty with
Wolfe.

The Indians, intent only on the sport which they
had come to enjoy, seemed in high glee, and appar-
ently peaceably disposed ; every night they returned
to the camp on the north side. The boys could see
their fires gleaming among the trees on the opposite
shore; and now and then, in the stillness of the
evening, their wild shouts of revelry would come
faintly to their ears, borne by the breeze over the
waters of the lake.

The allusion that Indiana had made to her own
history, though conveyed in broken and hardly in-
telligible language, had awakened feelings of deep
interest for her in the breasts of her faithful friends.
Many months after this she related to her wondering
auditors the fearful story of the massacre of her kin-
dred, which I will now relate, as I have raised the
curiosity of my youthful readers.

There had been for some time a jealous feeling
existing between the chiefs of two principal tribes
of the Ojebwas and the Mohawks, which like a

186 THE "BEAM OF THE MORNING."

smoihered fire had burned in the heaxt of each with-
out having burst into a decided blaze; for each
strove to compass his ends and obtain the advan-
tage over the other by covert means. The tribe of
the Mohawks of which I now speak claimed the
southern shores of the Rice Lake for their hunting-
grounds, and certain islands and parts of the lake for
fishing, while that of the Ojebwas considered them-
selves masters of the northern shores and certain
rights of water besides.* Possibly it was about these
rights that the quarrel originated ; but if so, it was
not openly avowed between the "Black Snake" (that
was the totem borne by the Mohawk chief) and the
" Bald Eagle " (the totem of the Ojebwa).

These chiefs had each a son, and the Bald Eagle
had also a daughter of great and rare beauty, called
by her people the " Beam of the Morning." She was
the admirJttion of Mohawks as well as Ojebwas, and
many of the young men of both the tribes had
sought her hand, but hitherto in vain. Among her
numerous suitors, the son of the Black Snake seemed
to be the most enamoured of her beauty ; and it was
probably with some intention of winning the favour
of the young Ojebwa squaw for his son, that the
Black Snake accepted the formal invitation of the
Bald Eagle to come to his hunting-grounds during
the rice-harvest, and shoot deer and ducks on the
lake, and to ratify a truce which had been for some
time set on foot between them. But while outwardly

* The facts of this narrative were gathered from the lips of the eldest ion of a
Rice Lake chief. I have preferred giving it in the present form, rather than as
th« story of the Indian girl. Simple as it is, it is matter of history.

THE TREACHEROUS GUEST. 187

professing friendship and a desire for peace, inwardly
the fire of hatred burned fiercely in the breast of the
Black Snake against the Ojebwa chief and his only
son, a young man of great promise, renowned among
his tribe as a great hunter and warrior, but who had
once offended the Mohawk chief by declining a matri-
monial alliance with one of the daughters of a chief
of inferior rank who was closely connected to him
by marriage. This aflfront rankled in the heart of
the Black Snake, though outwardly he affected to
have forgiven and forgotten the slight that had been
put upon his relative.

The hunting had been carried on for some days
very amicably, when one day the Bald Eagle was
requested, with all due attention to Indian etiquette,
to go to the wigwam of the Black Snake. On enter-
ing the lodge, he perceived the Mohawk strangely
disordered : he rose from his mat, on which he had
been sleeping, with a countenance fearfully distorted,
his eyes glaring hideously, his whole frame convulsed
and writhing as in fearful bodily anguish ; and cast-
ing himself upon the ground, he rolled and grovelled
on the earth, uttering frightful yells and groans.

The Bald Eagle was moved at the distressing state
in which he found his guest, and asked the cause of
his disorder, but this the other refused to tell. After
some hours the fit appeared to subside, but the chief
remained moody and silent. The following day the
same scene was repeated; and on the third, when the
fit seemed to have increased in bodily agony, with
great apparent reluctance, wrung seemingly from him

188 THE BAD spirit's DEMAND.

by the importunity of his host, he consented to reveal
the cause, which was, that the Bad Spirit had told
him that these bodily tortures could not cease till the
only son of his friend, the Ojebwa chief, had been
sacrificed to appease his anger, neither could peace
long continue between the It^o nations until this deed
had been done ; and not only must the chiefs son be
slain, but his flesh must be served up at a feast at
which the father must preside. The Black Snake
affected the utmost horror and aversion at so bloody
and unnatural a deed being committed to save his
life and the happiness of his tribe; but the peace was
to be ratified for ever if the sacrifice were made,-^if
not, war to the knife was to be ever between the
Mohawks and Ojebwas.

The Bald Eagle, seeing that his treacherous guest
would make this an occasion of renewing a deadly
warfare, for which possibly he was not at the time
well prepared, assumed a stoical . calmness, and
replied,—

" Be it so ; great is the power of the Bad Spirit to
cause evil to the tribes of the chiefs that rebel against
his will. My son shall be sacrificed by my hand,
that the evil one may be appeased, and that the
Black Snake's body may have ease, and his people
rest beside the fires of their lodges in peace."

" The Bald Eagle has spoken like a chief with a
large heart," was the specious response of the wily
Mohawk ; " moreover, the Good Spirit also appeared,
and said, ' Let the Black Snake^s son and the Bald
Eagle's daughter become man and wife, that peace

AN UNNATURAL DEED. 189

may be found to dwell among the lodges, and the
war-hatchet be buried for ever.' "

"The Beam of the Morning shall become the wife
of the Young Pine," was the courteous answer ; but
stern revenge lay deep hidden beneath the unmoved
brow and passionless lip.

The fatal day arrived. The Bald Eagle, with un-
flinching hand and eye that dropped no human teat
of sorrow for the son of his love, saw his son bound
to the fatal post and pierced by the arrows of his
own tribe. The, fearful feast of human flesh waa
prepared, and the old chief, pale but unmoved, pre-
sided over the ceremonies. The war -dance was
danced round the sacrifice, and all went off* well, as
if no such horrible rite had been enacted ; but a fear-
ful retribution was at hand. The Young Pine sought
the tent of the Bald Eagle's daughter that evening,
and was received with all due deference, as a son of
so great a chief as the Black Snake merited. He
was regarded now as a successful suitor ; and, intoxi-
cated with the beauty of the Beam of the Morning,
he pressed her to allow the marriage to take place in
a few days. The bride consented, and a day was
named for the wedding feast to be celebrated ; and,
that due honour might be given to so great an event,
invitations were sent out to the principal families of
the Mohawk tribe, and these amounted to several
hundreds of souls ; while the young Ojebwa hunters
were despatched up the river and to different parts
of the country, avowedly to collect venison, beaver,
and other delicacies, to regale their guests, but in

PREPAKA.TIOIIS FOR BEmTOL

reality to summon, by means of trusty scouts, a large
wat-party from the small lakes, to be in readiness to

THE MARRIAGE FEAST. 191

take part in the deadly revenge that was preparing
for their enemies.

Meantime the squaws had pitched the nuptial tent
and prepared the bridal ornaments. A large wigwam,
capable of containing all the expected guests, was
then constructed, adorned with the thick branches of
evergreens, so artfully contrived as to be capable of
concealing the armed Ojebwas and their allies, who
in due time were introduced beneath this leafy screen,
armed with the murderous tomahawk and scalping-
knife, with which to spring upon their defenceless
and unsuspecting guests. According to the etiquette
always observed upon such occasions, all deadly
weapons were left outside the tent. The bridegroom
had been conducted with songs and dancing to the
tent of the bride. The guests, to the number of
several hundred naked and painted warriors, were
assembled. The feast was declared to be ready. A
great iron pot or kettle occupied the centre of the
tent. According to the custom of the Indians, the
father of the bridegroom was invited to lift the most
important dish from the pot, whilst the warriors
commenced their war-dance around him. This dish
was usually a bear's head, which was fastened to a
string left for the purpose of raising it from the pot.

" Let the Black Snake, the great chief of the Mo-
hawks, draw up the head and set it on the table, that
his people may eat and make merry, and that his
wise heart may be glad," were the scornful words of
the Bald Eagle.

A yell of horror burst from the lips of the horror-

PRBPABATIOHB FOR RBVXHOK.

reality to summon, by means of trusty scouts, a lai^
war-party from the small lakes, to be in readiness to

THE MARRIAGE FEAST. 191

take part in the deadly revenge that was preparing
for their enemies.

Meantime the squaws had pitched the nuptial tent
and prepared the bridal ornaments. A large wigwam,
capable of containing all the expected guests, was
then constructed, adorned with the thick branches of
evergreens, so artfully contrived as to be capable of
concealing the armed Ojebwas and their allies, who
in due time were introduced beneath this leafy screen,
armed with the murderous tomahawk and scalping-
knife, with which to spring upon their defenceless
and unsuspecting guests. According to the etiquette
always observed upon such occasions, all deadly
weapons were left outside the tent. The bridegroom
had been conducted with songs and dancing to the
tent of the bride. The guests, to the number of
several hundred naked and painted warriors, were
assembled. The feast was declared to be ready. A
great iron pot or kettle occupied the centre of the
tent. According to the custom of the Indians, the
father of the bridegroom was invited to lift the most
important dish from the pot, whilst the warriors
commenced their war-dance around him. This dish
was usually a bear's head, which was fastened to a
string left for the purpose of raising it from the pot.

" Let the Black Snake, the great chief of the Mo-
hawks, draw up the head and set it on the table, that
his people may eat and make merry, and that his
wise heart may be glad," were the scornful words of
the Bald Eagle.

A yell of horror burst from the lips of the horror-

PRBPABA.TIONS FOB BEVBNGB.

reality to summon, by means of trusty scouts, a large
war-party from the small lakes, to be in readiness to

THE MARRIAGE FEAST. 191

take part in the deadly revenge that was preparing
for their enemies.

Meantime the squaws had pitched the nuptial tent
and prepared the bridal ornaments. A large wigwam,
capable of containing all the expected guests, was
then constructed, adorned with the thick branches of
evergreens, so artfully contrived as to be capable of
concealing the armed Ojebwas and their allies, who
in due time were introduced beneath this leafy screen,
armed with the murderous tomahawk and scalping-
knife, with which to spring upon their defenceless
and unsuspecting guests. According to the etiquette
always observed upon such occasions, all deadly
weapons were left outside the tent. The bridegroom
had been conducted with songs and dancing to the
tent of the bride. The guests, to the number of
several hundred naked and painted warriors, were
assembled. The feast was declared to be ready. A
great iron pot or kettle occupied the centre of the
tent. According to the custom of the Indians, the
father of the bridegroom was invited to lift the most
important dish from the pot, whilst the warriors
commenced their war-dance around him. This dish
was usually a bear's head, which was fastened to a
string left for the purpose of raising it from the pot.

" Let the Black Snake, the great chief of the Mo-
hawks, draw up the head and set it on the table, that
his people may eat and make merry, and that his
wise heart may be glad," were the scornful words of
the Bald Eagle.

A yell of horror burst from the lips of the horror-

192 AN INDIAN VENDETTA.

stricken father as he lifted to view the fresh and
gory head of his only son, the hxippy bridegroom of
the lovely daughter of the Ojebw^a chief.

" Ha !" shouted the Bald Eagle, " is the great chief
of the Mohawks a squav^r, that his blood grov^rs v^hite
and his heart trembles at the sight of his son, the
bridegroom of the Beam of the Morning ? The Bald
Eagle gave neither sigh nor groan when he saw the
arrows pierce the heart of his child. Come, brother,
take the knife ; taste the flesh and drink the blood
of thy son. The Bald Eagle shrank not when you
bade him partake of the feast that was prepared from
his young warrior's body."

The wretched father dashed himself upon the
earth, while his cries and bowlings rent the air.
These cries were answered by the war-whoop of the
ambushed Ojebwas, as they sprang to their feet and
with deafening yells attacked the guests, who, panic-
stricken, naked and defenceless, fell an easy prey to
their infuriated enemies. Not one living foe escaped
to tell the tale of that fearful marriage feast. A
second Judith had the chief s daughter proved. It
was her plighted hand that had severed the head of
her unsuspecting bridegroom, to complete the fearful
vengeance that had been devised in return for the
merciless and horrible murder of her brother.

Nor was the sacrifice yet finished ; for with fearful
cries the Indians seized upon the canoes of their
enemies, and with the utmost speed, urged by un-
satisfied revenge, hurried down the lake to an island
where the women and children and such of the aged

THE BRAVE SQUAW. 193

or young men as were not included among the wed-
ding guests were encamped in unsuspecting security.
Panic-stricken, the Mohawks offered no resistance,
but fell like sheep appointed for the slaughter. The
Ojebwas slew there the gray-head with the infant of
days. But while the youths and old men tamely
yielded to their enemies, there was one who, her
spirit roused to fury by the murder of her father,
armed herself with the war-club and knife, and
boldly withstood the successful warriors. At the
door of the tent of the slaughtered chief the Amazon
defended her children. While the war lightning
kindled in her dark eyes, she called aloud in scornful
tones to her people to hide themselves in the tents of
their women, who alone were braves, and would fight
their battles. Fiercely she taunted the men; but
they shrank from the unequal contest, and she alone
was found to deal the death-blow upon the foe, till,
overpowered with numbers, and pierced with fright-
ful wounds, she fell singing her own death-song and
raising the wail for the dead who lay around her.
Night closed in, but the work of blood still continued.
Lower down they found another encampment, and
there also they slew all the inhabitants of the lodges.
They then returned to the island, to gather together
their dead and to collect the spoils of the tents.
They were weary with the fatigue of the slaughter
of that fearful day. The retribution had satisfied
even their love of blood. And when they found, on
returning to the spot where the heroine had stood
at bay, a young solitary female sitting beside the

(721) 13

194 THE FIRE OF REVENOE.

corpse of that dauntless woman, her mother, they led
her away, and did all that their savage nature could
suggest to soften her anguish and dry her tears.
They brought her to the tents of their women,
clothed and fed her, and bade her be comforted ; but
her young heart burned within her, and she refused
consolation. She could not forget the wrongs of her
people : she was the only living creature left of the
Mohawks on that island. The young girl was
Indiana — the same whom Hector Maxwell had
found, wounded and bound, and ready to perish with
hunger and thirst, on Bare Hill.

Brooding with revenge in her heart, the young
girl told them that she had stolen into the tent of
the Bald Eagle, and aimed a knife at his throat;
but the fatal blow was arrested by one of the young
men, who had watched her enter the old chief's
tent. A council was called, and she was taken to
Bare Hill, bound, and left in the sad state already
described.

It was with feelings of horror and terror that the
Christian children listened to this fearful tale, and
Indiana read in their averted eyes and pale faces
the feelings with which the recital of the tale of
blood had inspired them. And then it was, as they
sat beneath the shade of the trees, in the soft, misty
light of an Indian summer moon, that Catharine,
with simple earnestness, taught her young disciple
those heavenly lessons of mercy and forgiveness
which her Redeemer had set forth by his life, his
doctrines, and his death — telling her that if she

THE SPIRIT OP LOVE, 196

would see that Saviour's face in heaven, and dwell
with him in joy and peace for ever, she must learn
to pray for those dreadful men who had made her
fatherless and motherless and her home a desolation ;
and that the fire of revenge must be quenched within
her heart, and replaced by the spirit of love, or she
could not become a child of God and an inheritor
of tlie kingdom of heaven. How hard were these
conditions to the young heathen! how contrary to
her nature, to all that she had been taught in the
tents of her fathers, where revenge was virtue, and
to take the scalp of an enemy a glorious thing !

Yet when she contrasted the gentle, kind, and
dove-like characters of her Christian friends with
the fierce, bloody people of her tribe and of her
Ojebwa enemies, she could not but own they were
more worthy of love and admiration. Had they not
found her a poor, miserable, trembling captive, un-
bound her, fed and cherished her, pouring the balm
of consolation into her wounded heart, drawing her
in bands of tenderest love to forsake those wild and
fearful passions that warred in her soul, and bringing
her to the feet of the Saviour, to become his meek
and holy child — ^a lamb of his " extended fold " ? *

* The Indian who related this narrative to the author was a son of a Bice
Lake chief, Mosang Poudash by name. He vouched for its truth as a historic
fact remembered hy his father, whose grandsire had been one of the actors in
the massacre.

CHAPTER IX

" The horn of the hunter is heard on the hilL"

Irish Song.

HILE the Indians were actively pursuing
their sports on the lake, shooting wild-
fowl, and hunting and fishing by torch-
light, so exciting was the amusement of
watching them that the two lads, Hector and Louis,
quite forgot all sense of danger in the enjoyment of
lying or sitting on the brow of the mount near the
great ravine and looking at their proceedings. Once
or twice the lads were near betraying themselves to
the Indians by raising a shout of delight at some
skilful manoeuvre that excited their unqualified ad-
miration and applause.

At night, when the canoes had all retired to the
camp on the north shore, where the Indians assembled
under the boughs of some venerable trees, and round
the evening fires related the deeds of the preceding
day, and all fear of detection had ceased for the time,
they lighted up their own shanty fire, and cooked a
good supper, and also prepared a suflSciency of food
for the morrow. The Indians remained for a fort-
night. At the end of that time Indiana, who was a

A MOMENT OP INTENSE ANXIETY. 197

watchful spy on their movements, told Hector and
Louis that the camp was broken up, and the Indians
had gone up the river, and would not return again
for some weeks. The departure of the Indians was
a matter of great rejoicing to Catharine, whose dread
of these savages had greatly increased since she had
been made acquainted with the fearful deeds which
Indiana had described.

Once, and only once during their stay, the Indians
had passed within a short distance of their dwelling ;
but they were in full chase of a bear, which had been
seen crossing the deep ravine near Mount Ararat, and
were too intent upon their game to notice the shanty;
for they never turned out of their path, and Catha-
rine, who was alone at the time, drawing water from
the spring, was so completely concealed by the high
bank above her that she had quite escaped their
notice. Fortunately, Indiana gave the two boys a
signal to conceal themselves, where, effectually hidden
among the thick, gray, mossy trunks of the cedars at
the lake shore, they remained secure from molesta-
tion ; while the Indian girl dropped noiselessly down
among the tangled thicket of wild vines and brush-
wood, which she drew cautiously oyer her, and closed
her eyes, lest, as she naively remarked, their glitter
should be seen and betray her to her enemies.

It was a moment of intense anxiety to our poor
wanderers, whose terrors were more excited on be-
half of the young Mohawk than for themselves, and
they congratulated her on her escape with affection-
ate warmth.

198 THE AURORA BOREALI&

"Are my white brothers afraid to die?" was the
young squaw's half -scornful reply. " Indiana is the
daughter of a brave ; she fears not to die."

The latter end of September and the first week in
October had been stormy and even coli The rainy
season, however, was now over. The nights were
often illuminated by the aurora borealis, which
might be seen forming an arch of soft and lovely
brightness over the lake to the north and north-
eastern portions of the horizon, or shooting upwards,
in ever-varying shafts of greenish light, now hiding,
now revealing the stars, which shone with softened
radiance through the silvery veil that dimmed their
beauty. Sometimes for many nights together the
same appearance might be seen, and was usually the
forerunner of frosty weather, though occasionally it
was the precursor of cold winds and heavy rains.

The Indian girl regarded it with superstitious
feelings, but whether as an omen of good or evil she
would not tell. On all matters connected with her
religious notions she was shy and reserved, though
occasionally she unconsciously revealed them. Thus
the warnings of death or misfortunes were revealed
to her by certain ominous sounds in the woods, the
appearance of strange birds or animals, or the mean-
ings of others. The screeching of the owl, the
bleating of the doe, or barking of the fox, were evil
auguries, while the flight of the eagle and the croak-
ing of the raven were omens of good. She put faith
in dreams, and would foretell good or evil fortune
from them ; she could read the morning and evening

THE INDIAN SUMMER. 199

clouds, and knew from various appearances of the
sky, or the coming or departing of certain birds or
insects, changes in the atmosphere. Her ear was
quick in distinguishing the changes in the voices of
the birds or animals ; she knew the times of their
coming and going, and her eye was quick to see, as
her ear to detect sounds. Her voice was soft, and
low, and plaintive, and she delighted in imitating the
little ballads or hymns that Catharine sang ; though
she knew nothing of their meaning, she would catch
the tunes and sing the song with Catharine, touch-
ing the hearts of her delighted auditors by the
melody and pathos of her voice.

The season called Indian summer had now arrived.
The air was soft and mild, almost oppressively warm;
the sun looked red as though seen through the
smoke-clouds of a populous city. A soft blue haze
hung on the bosom of the glassy lake, which reflected
on its waveless surface every passing shadow, and
the gorgeous tints of its changing woods on shore
and island. Sometimes the stillness of the air was
relieved by a soft sighing wind, which rustled the
dying foliage as it swept by.

The Indian summer is the harvest of the Indian
tribes. It is during this season that they huat and
shoot the wild-fowl that come in their annual flights
to visit the waters of the American lakes and rivers ;
it is then that they gather in their rice, and prepare
their winter stores of meat, and fish, and furs. The
Indian girl knew the season they would resort to
certain hunting-grounds. They were constant, and

200 VISITING THE ISLANDS.

altered not their customs; as it was with their fathers,
so it was with them.

Louis had heard so much of the Otonabee river
from Indiana that he was impatient to go and
explore the entrance and the shores of the laike on
that side, which hitherto they had not ventured to
do for fear of being surprised by the Tndiana.
" Some fine day," said Louis, " we will go out in the
canoe, explore the distant islands, and go up the
river a little way."

Hector advised visiting all the islands by turns,
beginning at the little islet which looks in the dis-
tance like a boat in full sail; it is level with the
water, and has only three or four trees upon it. The
name they had given to it was " Ship Island." The
Indians have some name for it which I have for-
gotten, but it means, I have been told, " Witch
Islaad." Hectors plan met with general approba-
tion, and they resolved to take provisions with them
for several days, and visit the islands and go up the
rivery passing the night under the shelter of the
thick trees on the shore wherever they found a
pleasant halting-place.

The weather was mild and warm, the lake was as
clear and calm as a mirror, and in joyous mood our
little party embarked and paddled up the lake, first
to Ship Island ; but this did not detain them many
minutes. They then went to Grape Island, which
they so named from the abundance of wild vines,
now rich with purple clusters of the ripe grapes —
tart, but still not to be despised by our young

LOOKING FORWARD. 203

adventurers, and they brought away a large birch
basket heaped up with the fruit. " Ah, if we had
but a good cake of maple sugar now, to preserve our
grapes with, and make such grape jelly as my
mother makes !" said Louis.

" If we find out a sugar-bush we will manage to
make plenty of sugar," said Catharine ; " there are
maples not two hundred yards from the shanty, near
the side of the steep bank to the east. You remem-
ber the pleasant spot, which we named the Happy
Valley, where the bright creek runs dancing along
so merrily, below the pine-ridge ?"

" Oh yes ; the same that winds along near the foot
of Bare Hill, where the water-cresses grow.''

" Yes, where I gathered the milk-weed the other
day."

"What a beautiful pasture-field that will make
when it is cleared !" said Hector thoughtfully.

" Hector is always planning about fields, and clear-
ing great farms," said Louis, laughing. " We shall
see Hec a great man one of these days ; I think he
has in his own mind brushed, and burned, and
logged up all the fine flats and table-land on the
plains before now — ay, and cropped it all with wheat,
and pease, and Indian corn."

" We will have a clearing and a nice field of corn
next year, if we live," replied Hector; "that com
that we found in the canoe will be a treasure."

" Yes; and the corn-cob you got on Bare Hill," said
Catharine. " How lucky we have been ! We shall
be so happy when we see our little field of com

204 Indiana's prize.

flourishing round the shanty ! It was a good thing,
Hec, that you went to the Indian camp that day,
though both Louis and I were very miserable while
you were absent; but, you see, God must have
directed you, that the life of this poor girl might be
saved, to be a comfort to us. Everything has pros-
pered well with us since she came to us. Perhaps it
is because we try to make a Christian of her, and so
God blesses all our endeavours.**

" We are told," said Hector, " that there is joy
with the angels of God over one sinner that repenteth :
doubtless, it is a joyful thing when the heathen, that
knew not the name of God, are taught to glorify his
holy name."

Indiana, while exploring, had captured a porcu-
pine. She declared that she should have plenty of
quills for edging baskets and moccasins ; besides, she
said, the meat was white and good to eat. Hector
looked with a suspicious eye upon the little animal,
doubting the propriety of eating its flesh, though he
had learned to eat musk-rats, and consider them
good meat, baked in Louis's Indian oven, or roasted
on a forked stick before the fire. The Indian porcu-
pine is a small animal, not a very great deal larger
than the common British hedgehog ; the quills, how-
ever, are longer and stronger, and varied with
alternate clouded marks of pure white and dark
brownish-gray ; they are minutely barbed, so that if
one enters the flesh it is with difficulty extracted,
but will work through of itself in an opposite direc-
tion, and can then be easily pulled out. Dogs and

GOOD NEWS. 205

cattle often suffer great inconvenience from getting
their muzzles filled with the quills of the porcupine,
the former when worrying the poor little animal,
and the latter by accidentally meeting a dead one
among the herbage ; great inflammation will some-
times attend the extraction. Indians often lose
valuable hounds from this cause. Besides porcupines,
Indiana told her companions, there were some fine
butter-nut trees (Juglans cinerea) on the island, and
they could collect a bagful of nuts in a very short
time. This was good news, for the butter-nut is
sweet and pleasant, almost equal to the walnut, of
which it is a species.

The day was passed pleasantly enough in collect-
ing nuts and grapes; but as this island did not
afibrd any good cleared spot for passing the night,
and, moreover, was tenanted by black snakes, several
of which made their appearance among the stones
near the edge of the water, they agreed by common
counsel to go to Long Island, where Indiana said
there was an old log-house, the walls of which were
still standing, and where there was dry moss in
plenty which would make them a comfortable bed
for the night. This old log-house, she said, had been
built, she had heard the Indians say, by a French
Canadian trapper, who used to visit the lake some
years ago. He was on friendly terms with the chiefs,
who allowed him many privileges, and he bought
their furs, and took them down the lake, through
the river Trent, to some station-house on the great
lake. They found they should have time enough to

206 ON LONG ISLAND.

land and deposit their nuts and grapes and paddle to
Long Island before sunset. Upon the western part
of this fine island they had several times landed and
passed some hours, exploring its shores ; but Indiana
told them that to reach the old log-house they must
enter the low swampy bay to the east, at an opening
which she called Indian Cove. To do this required
some skill in the management of the canoe, which
was rather overloaded for so light a vessel ; and the
trees grew so close and thick that they had some
difficulty in pushing their way through them without
injuring its frail sides. These trees or bushes were
chiefly black alder (Almis incuna), high-bush cran-
berries (Viburnum opultus), dogwood, willows, as
they proceeded further, there was ground of a more
solid nature, with cedar, poplar, swamp oak, and soft
maple, silver birch, and wild cherries. Long strings
of silver-gray tree-moss hung dangling over their
heads, the bark and roots of the birch and cedars
were covered with a luxuriant growth of green moss;
but there was a dampness and closeness in this place
that made it far from wholesome. The little band
of voyagers were not sorry when the water became
too shallow to admit of the canoe making its way
through the swampy channel, and they landed on
the bank of a small circular pond, as round as a
ring, and nearly surrounded by tall trees hoary with
moss and lichens ; large water-lilies floated on the
surface of this miniature lake; the brilliant red
berries of the high-bush cranberry and the purple
clusters of grapes festooned the trees.

THE OLD LOG HUT. 207

" A famous breeding-place this must be for ducks "
observed Louis.

" And for flowers/' said Catharine, " and for
grapes and cranberries. There is always some beauty
or some usefulness to be found, however lonely the
spot."

"A fine place for musk-rats, and minks, and
fishes," said Hector, looking round. '* The old
trapper knew what he was about when he made his
lodge near this pond. And there, sure enough, is the
log-hut, and not so bad a one either;" and scrambling
up the bank he entered the deserted little tenement,
well pleased to find it in tolerable repair. There
were the ashes on the stone hearth, just as it had
been left years back by the old trapper ; some rough-
hewn shelves, a rude bedstead of cedar poles still
occupied a comer of the little dwelling •, heaps of old
dry moss and grass lay upon the ground j and tho
little squaw pointed with one of her silent laughs to
a collection of broken egg-shells, where some wild-
duck had sat and hatched her downy brood among
the soft materials which she had found and appro-
priated to her own purpose. The only things per-
taining to the former possessor of the log-hut were
an old, rusty, battered tin pannikin, now, alas ! unfit
for holding water ; a bit of a broken earthen whisky
jar; a rusty nail, which Louis pocketed, or rather
pouched — for he had substituted a fine pouch of
deer-skin for his worn-out pocket; and a fishing-line
of good stout cord, which was wound on a splinter
of red cedar, and carefully stuck between one of the

208 THE LAST OF HER RACE.

rafters and the roof of the shanty. A rusty but
efficient hook was attached to the line, and Louis,
who was the finder, was quite overjoyed at his good
fortune in making so valuable an addition to his
fishing-tackle. Hector got only an odd worn-out
moccasin, which he threw into the little pond in
disdain; while Catharine declared she would keep
the old tin pot as a relic, and carefully deposited it
in the canoe.

As they made their way into the interior of the
island, they found that there were a great many filne
sugar maples, which had been tapped by some one —
as the boys thought, by the old trapper; but Indiana,
on examining the incisions in the trees, and the
remnants of birch- bark vessels that lay mouldering
on the earth below them, declared them to have been
the work of her own people, and long and sadly did
the young girl look upon these simple memorials of
a race of whom she was the last living remnant.
The young girl stood there in melancholy mood, a
solitary, isolated being, with no kindred tie upon the
earth to make life dear to her; a stranger in the
land of her fathers, associating with those whose
ways were not her ways, nor their thoughts her
thoughts, whose language was scarcely known to
her, whose God was not the god of her fathers.
Yet the dark eyes of ^the Indian girl were not
dimmed with tears as she thought of these things
she had learned of her people to suffer and be
still.

Silent and patient she stood, with her melancholy

WORDS OF KINDNESS AND LOVE. 209

gaze bent on the earth, when she felt the gentle hand
of Catharine laid upon her arm, and then kindly and
lovingly passed round her neck, as she whispered, —

" Indiana, I will be to you as a sister, and will love
you and cherish you, because you are an orphan girl
and alone in the world ; but God loves you, and will
make you happy. He is a Father to the fatherless,
and the Friend of the destitute and them that have
no helper."

The words of kindness and love need no interpre-
tation ; no book-learning is necessary to make them
understood. The young, the old, the deaf, the dumb,
the blind can read this universal language ; its very
silence is often more eloquent than words, — ^the gentle
pressure of the hand, the half-echoed sigh, the look
of sympathy will penetrate to the very heart, and
unlock its hidden stores of human tenderness and
love. The rock is smitten and the waters gush forth,
a bright and living stream, to refresh and fertilize
the thirsty soul.

The heart of the poor mourner was touched ; she
bowed down her head upon the hand that held her
so kindly in its sisterly grasp, and wept soft, sweet,
human tears full of grateful love, while she whis-
pered, in her own low, plaintive voice, " My white
sister, I kiss you in my heart ; I will love the God of
my white brothers, and be his child."

The two friends now busied themselves in prepar-
ing the evening meal : they found Louis and Hector
had lighted up a charming blaze on the desolate

hearth. A few branches of cedar, twisted together
Cr2i) 14

210 A SILVAN MEAL.

by Catharine, made a serviceable broom, with which
she swept the floor, giving to the deserted dwelling a
neat and comfortable aspect ; some big stones were
quickly rolled in, and made to answer for seats in the
chimney-corner. The new-found fishing-line was
soon put into requisition by Louis, and with very
little delay a fine dish of black bass, broiled on the
embers, was added to their store of dried venison and
roasted bread-roots, which they found in abundance
on a low spot on the island. Grapes and butter-nuts,
which Hector cracked with a stone by way of a nut-
cracker, finished their silvan meal. The boys then
stretched themselves to sleep on the ground, with
their feet, Indian fashion, to the fire; while Catharine
and Indiana occupied the mossy couch which they
had newly spread with fragrant cedar and hemlock
boughs.

The next island that claimed their attention was
Sugar-Maple Island, a fine, thickly-wooded island,
rising with steep, rocky banks from the water. A
beautiful object, but too densely wooded to admit of
our party penetrating beyond a few yards of its
shores.

The next island they named the Beaver,* from its
resemblance in shape to that animal. A fine, high,
oval island beyond this they named Black Island,*!-
from its dark evergreens. The next was that which

* Commonly called Sheep Island, from some person having pastured a few
sheep upon it some few years ago. I have taken the liberty of preserving the
name, to which it bears an obvious resemblance; the nose of the Beaver lies
towards ihe west, the tail to the east.

t Black Island, the sixth from the head of the lake; an oval island, remark-
able for its evergreens.

"it is a place op spirits." 211

seemed most to excite the interest of their Indian
guide, although but a small stony island, scantily
clothed with trees, lower down the lake. This place
she called Spooke Island, which means in the Indian
tongue "a place for the dead." It is sometimes called
Spirit Island; and here, in times past, the Indian
people used to bury their dead. The island is now
often the resort of parties of pleasure, who, from its
being grassy and open, find it more available than
those which are densely wooded. The young Mo-
hawk regarded it with feelings of superstitious awe,
and would not suffer Hector to land the canoe on its
rocky shore.

" It is a place of spirits,'* she said ; " the ghosts of
my fathers will be angry if we go there." Even her
young companions felt that they were upon sacred
ground, and gazed with silent reverence upon the
burial isle.

Strongly imbued with a love of the marvellous,
which they had derived from their Highland origin,
Indiana's respect for the spirits of her ancestors was
regarded as most natural ; and in silence, as if fearing
to disturb the solemnity of the spot, they resumed
their paddles, and after a while reached the mouth of
the river Otonabee, which was divided into two sepa-
rate channels by a long, low point of swampy land,
covered with stunted, mossy bushes and trees, rushes,
driftwood, and aquatic plants. Indiana told them
this river flowed from the north, and that it was
many days' journey up to the lakes. To illustrate
its course, she drew with her paddle a long line, with

212 THE OTONABEB RIVER.

sundry curves and broader spaces, some longer, some
smaller, with bays and inlets, which she gave them
to understand were the chain of lakes that she spoke
of. There were beautiful hunting-grounds on the
borders of these lakes, and many fine waterfalls and
rocky islands ; she had been taken up to these waters
during the time of her captivity. The Ojebwas, she
said, were a branch of the great Chippewa nation,
who owned much land and great waters thereabouts.

Compared with the creeks and streams that they
had seen hitherto, the Otonabee appeared a majestic
river, and an object of great admiration and curiosity;
for it seemed to them as if it were the highroad
leading up to an unknown, far-off land, — a land of
dark, mysterious, impenetrable forests, — ^flowing on,
flowing on, in lonely majesty, reflecting on its tran-
quil bosom the blue sky, the dark pines and gray
cedars, the pure ivory-white water-lily, and every
passing shadow of bird or leaf that flitted across its
surface, so quiet was the onward flow of its waters.

A few brilliant leaves yet clung to the soft maples
and crimson-tinted oaks, but the glory of the forest
had departed ; the silent fall of many a sere and
yellow leaf told of the death of summer and of
winter's coming reign. Yet the air was wrapped in
a deceitful stillness; no breath of wind moved the
trees or dimpled the water. Bright wreaths of
scarlet berries and wild grapes hung in festoons
among the faded foliage. The silence of the forest
was unbroken, save by the quick tapping of the little
midland woodpecker or the shrill scream of the blue

HARBINGERS OF A HURRICANE. 215

jay, the whirring sound of the large white-and-gray
duck (called by the frequenters of these lonely waters
the whistlewing) as its wings swept the waters in
its flight, or the light dripping of the paddle, — so
still, so quiet was the scene.

As the day was now far advanced, the Indian girl
advised them either to encamp for the night on the
river-bank or to use all speed in returning. She
seemed to view the aspect of the heavens with some
anxiety. Vast volumes of light, copper-tinted clouds
were rising; the sun, seen through its hazy veil,
looked red and dim ; and a hot, sultry 'air, unrelieved
by a breath of refreshing wind, oppressed our young
voyagers. And though the same coppery clouds and
red sun had been seen for several successive days, a
sort of instinctive feeling prompted the desire in all
to return, and, after a few minutes' rest and refresh-
ment, they turned their little bark towards the lake ;
and it was well that they did so. By the time they
had reached the middle of the lake, the stillness of
the air was rapidly changing ; the rose-tinted clouds,
that had lain so long piled upon each other in moun-
tainous ridges, began to move upwards, at first slowly,
then with rapidly accelerated motion. There was a
hollow moaning in the pine-tops; and by fits a gusty
breeze swept the surface of the water, raising it into
rough, short, white-crested ridges.

These signs were pointed out by Indiana as the
harbingers of a rising hurricane; and now a swift
spark of light, like a falling star, glanced on the
water, as if there to quench its fiery light. Again

i

216 THE TEMPEST WAS ABOVE, ABOUND, BENEATH.

the Indian girl raised her dark hand and pointed to
the rolling storm-clouds, to the crested waters, and
the moving pine-tops ; then to the head of the Beaver
Island, — it was the one nearest to them. With an
arm of energy she wielded the paddle, with an eye of
fire she directed the course of their little vessel; for
well she knew their danger and the need for straining
every nerve to reach the nearest point of land. Low
muttering peals of thunder were now heard; the
wind was rising with electric speed. Away flew the
light bark, with the swiftness of a bird, over the
water; the tempest was above, around, and be-
neath. The hollow crash of the forest trees as
they bowed to the earth could be heard sullenly
sounding from shore to shore. And now the
Indian girl, flinging back her black streaming hair
from her brow, knelt at the head of the canoe and
with renewed vigour plied the paddle. The waters,
lashed into a state of turbulence by the violence of
the storm, lifted the canoe up and down; but no word
was spoken ; they each felt the greatness of the peril,
but they also knew that they were in the hands of
Him who can say to the tempest-tossed waves, " Peace,
be still,'* and they obey him.

Every effort was made to gain the nearest island ;
to reach the mainland was impossible, for the rain
poured down a blinding deluge. It was with diflSi-
culty the little craft was kept afloat by baling out
the water ; to do this, Louis was fain to use his cap,
and Catharine assisted with the old tin pot which
she had fortunately brought from the trapper's shanty.

END OF THE INDIAN SUMMER. 217

The tempest was at its height when they reached
the nearest point of the Beaver, and joyful was the
grating sound of the canoe as it was vigorously pushed
up on the shingly beach, beneath the friendly shelter
of the overhanging trees, where, perfectly exhausted
by the exertions they had made, dripping with rain,
and overpowered by the terrors of the storm, they
threw themselves on the ground, and in safety watched
its progress, thankful for an escape from such immi-
nent peril.

Thus ended the Indian summer, so deceitful in its
calmness and its beauty. The next day saw the
ground white with snow, and hardened into stone by
a premature frost. Our poor voyagers were not long
in quitting the shelter of the Beaver Island, and be-
taking themselves once more to their ark of refuge,
the log-house on Mount Ararat.

The winter that year set in with unusual severity
some weeks sooner than usual, so that from the begin-
ning of November to the middle of April the snow
never entirely left the ground. The lake was soon
covered with ice, and by the month of December it
was one compact, solid sheet from shore to shore.

«

CHAPTER X.

Scared by the red and noisy Ught.*'--Ck>LUtn>ox.

ECTOR and Louis had now little employ-
ment, except chopping fire-wood, which
was no very arduous task for two stout,
healthy lads used from childhood to hand-
ling the axe. Trapping, and hunting, and snaring
hares were occupations which they pursued more for
the excitement and exercise than from hunger, as they
had laid by abundance of dried venison, fish, and
birds, besides a plentiful store of rice. They now
visited those trees that they had marked in the
summer, where they had noticed the bees hiving, and
cut them down. In one they got more than a pailful
of rich honeycomb, and others yielded some more,
some less ; this afforded them a delicious addition to
their boiled rice and dried acid fruits. They might
have melted the wax and burned candles of it ; but
this was a refinement of luxury that never once
occurred to our young housekeepers : the dry pine-
knots that are found in the woods are the settlers'
candles. Catharine made some very good vinegar
with the refuse of the honey and combs, by pouring

SPEARING FISH. 219

water on it, and leaving it to ferment in a warm
nook of the chimney, in one of the birch-bark vessels ;
and this was an excellent substitute for salt as a
seasoning to the fresh meat and fish. Like the
Indians, they were now reconciled to the want of this
seasonable article.

Indiana seemed to enjoy the cold weather. The
lake, though locked up to every one else, was open
to her : with the aid of the tomahawk she patiently
made an opening in the ice, and over this she built
a little shelter of pine boughs stuck into the ice.
Armed with a sharp spear carved out of hardened
wood, she would lie upon the ice, and patiently await
the rising of some large fish to the air-hole, when
dexterously plunging the spear into the unwary crea-
ture, she dragged it to the surface. Many a noble
fish did the young squaw bring home, and cast at the
feet of him whom she had tacitly elected as her lord
and master : to him she ofiered the voluntary service
of a faithful and devoted servant — I might almost
have said, slave.

During the middle of December there were some
days of such intense cold that even our young Crusoes,
hardy as they were, preferred the blazing log-fire and
warm ingle-nook to the frozen lake and cutting
north-west wind which blew the loose snow in blind-
ing drifts over its bleak, unsheltered surface. Clad
in the warm tunic and petticoat of Indian blanket,
with fur-lined moccasins, Catharine and her Indian
friend felt little cold excepting to the face when they
went abroad, unless the wind was high, and then

220 A MYSTERIOUS OCCUPATION.

experience taught them to keep at home. And these
cold gloomy days they employed in many useful
works. Indiana had succeeded in dyeing the quills
of the porcupine that she had captured on Grape
Island; with these she worked a pair of beautiful
moccasins and an arrow -case for Hector, besides
making a sheath for Louis's couteau de chasse, of
which the young hunter was very proud, bestowing
great praise on the workmanship.

Indiana appeared to be deeply engrossed with some
work that she was engaged in, but preserved a pro-
voking degree of mystery about it, to the no small
annoyance of Louis, who, among his other traits of
character, was remarkably inquisitive, wanting to
know the why and wherefore of everything he saw.

Indiana first prepared a frame of some tough wood,
— it might be the inner bark of the oak, or elm, or
hickory ; this was pointed at either end, and wide in
the middle — not very much unlike the form of some
broad, flat fish. Over this she wove an open network
of narrow thongs of deer -hide, wetted to make it
more pliable, and securely fa3tened to the frame:
when dry it became quite tight, and resembled a sort
of coarse bamboo -work, such as you see on cane-
bottomed chairs and sofas.

" And now, Indiana, tell us what sort of fish you
are going to catch in your ingenious little net," said
Louis, who had watched her proceedings with great
interest. The girl shook her head, and laughed till
she showed all her white teeth, but quietly proceeded
to commence a second frame like the first.

Indiana's gift. 221

Louis put it on his head. No; it could not be
meant to be worn there, that was plain. He turned
it round and round. It must be intended for some
kind of bird-trap; yes, that must be it, and he
cast an inquiring glance at Indiana. She blushed,
shook her head, and gave another of her silent
laughs.

" Some game like battledoor and shuttle-cock," —
and snatching up a light bass-wood chip, he began
tossing the chip up and catching it on the netted
frame. The little squaw was highly amused, but
rapidly went on with her work. Louis was now
almost angry at the perverse little savage persevering
in keeping him in suspense. She would not tell him
till the other was done; — then there were to be a
pair of these curious articles ! — and he was forced at
last to sit quietly down to watch the proceeding of
the work. It was night before the two were com-
pleted and furnished with straps and loops. When
the last stroke was put to them, the Indian girl
knelt down at Hector's feet, and binding them on,
pointed to them with a joyous laugh, and said, ** Snow-
shoe — ^f or walk on snow — ^good ! "

The boys had heard of snow-shoes, but had never
seen them, and now seemed to understand little of
the benefit to be derived from the use of them. The
young Mohawk quickly transferred the snow-shoes
to her own feet, and soon proved to them that the
broad surface prevented those who wore them from
sinking into the deep snow. After many trials.
Hector began to acknowledge the advantage of walk-

222 EXCURSIONS AND EXPLORATIONS.

ing with the snow-shoes, especially on the frozen
snow on the ice-covered lake. Indiana was well

pleased with the ap-
probation her manu-
factures met with, and
very soon manufac-
tured for " Nee-chee/'
as they all now called
BNow-BHOK. Louis, a similar pre-

sent. As to Catharine, she declared the snow-shoes
made her ankles ache, and that she preferred the
moccasins that her cousin Louis made for her.

During the long bright days of February, they
made several excursions on the lake, and likewise
explored some of the high hills to the eastward. On
this ridge there were few large trees; but it was
thickly clothed with scrub-oaks, slender poplars, and
here and there fine pines, and picturesque free-growing
oaks of considerable size and great age — patriarchs,
they might be termed, among the forest growth.
Over this romantic range of hill and dale, free as the
air they breathed, roamed many a gallant herd of
deer, unmolested unless during certain seasons when
the Indians came to hunt over these hills. Surprised
at the difierent growth of the oaks on this side the
plains. Hector could not help expressing his astonish-
ment to Indiana, who told him that it was caused by
the custom that her people had had from time imme-
morial of setting fire to the bushes in the early part
of spring. This practice, she said, promoted the
growth of the deer-grass, made good cover for the

A DELIGHTFUL AMUSEMENT. 223

deer themselves, and ejffectually prevented the increase
of the large timbers, giving a singular aspect to the
high ridge of hills when contrasted with the more
wooded portions to the westward. From the lake
these eastern hills look verdant, and as if covered
with tall green fern. In the month of October a rich
rosy tint is cast upon the leaves of the scrub-oaks
by the autumnal frosts, and they present a glowing
unvaried crimson of the most glorious hue, only
variegated in spots by a dark feathery evergreen, or
a patch of light waving poplars turned by the same
wizard's wand to golden yellow.

There were many lovely spots, — lofty rounded
hills, and deep shady dells, with extended table-land,
and fine lake views ; but, on the whole, our young
folks preferred the oak openings and the beautiful
wooded glens of the western side, where they had
fixed their home.

There was one amusement they used greatly to
enjoy during the cold bright days and moonlight
nights of midwinter. This was gliding down the
frozen snow on the steep side of the dell near the
spring, seated on small hand-sleighs, which carried
them down with great velocity. Wrapped in their
warm furs, with caps fastened closely over their ears,
what cared they for the cold ? Warm and glowing
from head to foot, with cheeks brightened by the
delightful exercise, they would remain for hours
enjoying the amusement of the sno\^r-slide ; the bright
frost gemming the ground with myriads of diamonds,
sparkling in their hair, or whitening it till it rivalled

224 INDUSTRY AND CHEERFULNESS.

the snow beneath their feet. Then, when tired out
with the exercise, they returned to the shanty, stirred
up a blazing fire, till the smoked rafters glowed in
the red light ; spread their simple fare of stewed rice
sweetened with honey, or savoury soup of hare or
other game ; and then, when warmed and fed, they
kneeled together, side by side, and offered up a
prayer of gratitude to their Maker, and besought his
care over them during the dark and silent hours of
night.

Had these young people been idle in their habits
and desponding in their tempers, they must have
perished with cold and hunger, instead of enjoying
many necessaries and even some little luxuries in
their lonely forest home. Fortunately they had been
brought up in the early practice of every sort of use-
fulness, to endure every privation with cheerful forti-
tude; not indeed quietly to sit down and wait for
better times, but vigorously to create those better
times by every possible exertion that could be
brought into action to assist and ameliorate their
condition.

To be up and doing is the maxim of a Canadian ;
and it is this that nerves his arm to do and bear.
The Canadian settler, following in the steps of the
old Americans, learns to supply all his wants by the
exercise of his own energy. He brings up his family
to rely upon their own resources, instead of depend-
ing upon his neighboiirs.

The children of the modern emigrant, though enjoy-
ing a higher degree of civilization and intelligence,

WINTER WORK. 225

arising from a liberal education, might not have fared
so well under similar circumstances as did our
Canadian Crusoes, because, unused to battle with the
hardships incidental to a life of such privation as
they had known, they could not have brought so
much experience, or courage, or ingenuity to their
aid. It requires courage to yield to circumstances, as
well as to overcome them.

Many little useful additions to the interior of their
dwelling were made by Hector and Louis during the
long winter. They made a smoother and better table
than the first rough one that they put together.
They also made a rough partition of split cedars, to
form a distinct and separate sleeping-room for the
two girls ; but as this division greatly circumscribed
their sitting and cooking apartment, they resolved, as
soon as the spring came, to cut and draw in logs for
putting up a better and larger room to be used as a
summer parlour. Indiana and Louis made a com-
plete set of wooden trenchers out of butter-nut, a fine
hard wood of excellent grain, and less liable to warp
or crack than many others.

Louis's skill as a carpenter was much greater than
that of his cousin. He not only possessed more
judgment, and was more handy, but he had a certain
taste and neatness in finishing his work, however
rough his materials and rude his tools. He inherited
some of that skill in mechanism for which the French
have always been remarked. With his knife and a
nail he would carve a plum-stone into a miniature
basket, with handle across it, all delicately wrought

(721) 15

226 IKQEKIOUS LOUIS.

with flowers and checker-work The shell of a
butter-nut would be transformed into a boat, with
thwarts, and seats, and rudder, with sails of bass-
wood or birch-bark. Combs he could cut out of wood
or bone, so that Catharine could dress her hair or
confine it in braids or bands at will. This was a
source of great comfort to her ; and Louis was always
pleased when he could in any way contribute to his
cousin's happiness. These little arts Louis had been
taught by his father. Indeed, the great distance
that their little settlement was from any town or
village had necessarily forced their families to depend
on their own ingenuity and invention to supply many
of their wants. Once or twice a year they saw a
trading fur-merchant, as I before observed ; and those
were glorious days for Hector and Louis, who were
always on the alert to render the strangers any service
in their power, as by that means they sometimes
received little gifts from them, and gleaned up valu-
able information as to their craft as hunters and
trappers. And then there were wonderful tales of
marvellous feats and hair-breadth escapes to listen
to, as they sat with eager looks and open ears round
the blazing log-fire in the old log-house. Now they
would in their turns have tales to tell of strange
adventures, and all that had befallen them since the
first day of their wanderings on the Rice Lake
Plains.

The long winter passed away unmarked by any
very stirring event. The Indians had revisited the
hunting - grounds ; but they confined themselves

SUOAE-MAKINQ ON LONG ISLAND. 227

chiefly to the eastern side of the Plains, the lake and
the islands, and did not come near their dwelling to
molest them. The latter end of the month of March
presented fine sugar-making weather; and as they
had the use of the big iron pot, they resolved to
make maple sugar and some molasses. Long Island
was decided upon as the most eligible place. It had
the advantage over Maple Island of having a shanty
ready built for a shelter during the time they might
see fit to remain, and a good boiling-place, which
would be a comfort to the girls, as they need not be
exposed to the weather during the process of sugaring.
The two boys soon cut down some small pines and
bass-woods, which they hewed out into sugar-
troughs. Indiana manufactured some rough pails of
birch-bark. The first favourable day for the work
they loaded up a hand-sleigh with their vessels, and
marched forth over the ice to the island, and tapped
the trees they thought would yield sap for their pur-
pose. And many pleasant days they passed during
the sugar-making season.

They did not leave the sugar-bush for good till
the commencement of April, when the sun and wind
beginning to unlock the springs that fed the lake,
and to act upon its surface, taught them that it
would not be prudent to remain longer on the island.
The loud, booming sounds that were now frequently
heard of the pent-up air beneath striving to break
forth from its icy prison were warnings not to be
neglected. Openings began to appear, especially at
the entrance of the river and between the islands.

228 THE COMING OF THE BPRINa

and opposite to some of the larger creeks blue streams,
that attracted the water-fowl, ducks, and wild geese,
which came, guided by that instinct which never
errs, from their abiding-places in far-off lands. In-
diana knew the signs of the wild birds' coming and
going with a certainty that seemed almost marvel-
lous to her simple-minded companions.

How delightful were the first indications of the
coming spring ! How joyously our young Crusoes
heard the first tapping of the red-headed woodpecker!
The low, sweet, warbling note of the early song-spar-
row, and twittering chirp of the snow-bird, or that
neat, Quakerly-looking bird that comes to cheer us
with the news of simny days and green buds ; the
low, tender, whispering note of the chiccadee, flitting
among the pines or in the thick branches of the
shore-side trees; the chattering note of the little,
striped chitmink, as it pursued its fellows over the
fallen trees ; and the hollow sound of the male par-
tridge, heavily striking his wings against his sides to
attract the notice of the female birds, were among
the early spring melodies. For such they seemed to
our forest dwellers, for they told them

"That winter, cold winter, was past,
And spring, lovely spring, was approaching at last.**

They watched for the first song of the robin,* and
the full melody of the red wood-thrush ; f the rush-
ing sound of the passenger pigeons, as flocks of these
birds darted above their heads, sometimes pausing to

* Turdus migraiorius, or American robin.
+ Turdus melodust or wood-thrush.

NATURE a AWAKENINQ.

rest on the dry limb of some withered oak, or dart-
ing down to feed upon the scarlet berries of the
spicy winter green the acorns that still lay upon the
now uncovered ground or the hemes of hawthorn

and dogwood that still hung on the bare bushes.
The pines were now putting on their rich, mossy,
green spring dresses ; the skies were deep blue ;
Nature, weary of her long state of inaction, seemed
waking into life and light.

On the Plains the snow soon disappears, for the

230 THE WORK GOES BRAVELY ON.

8un and air have access to the earth much easier than
in the close, dense forest. Hector and Louis were
soon able to move about with axe in hand^ to cut the
logs for the addition to their house they proposed
making. They also set to work as soon as the
frost was out of the ground to prepare their little
field for the Indian corn. This kept them quite busy.
Catharine attended to the house ; and Indiana went
out fishing and hunting, bringing in plenty of smaU
game and fish every day. After they had piled and
burned up the loose boughs and trunks that encum-
bered the space they had marked out, they proceeded
to enclose it with a brush fence. This was done by
felling the trees that stood in the line of the field,
and letting them fall so as to form the bottom log of
the fence, which they then made of sufficient height
by piling up arms of trees and brushwood. Perhaps
in this matter they were too particular, as there was
no fear of " breachy cattle," or any cattle, intruding
on the crop; but Hector maintained that deer and
bears were as much to be guarded against as oxen
and cows.

The little enclosure was made secure from any
such depredators, and was as clean as hands could
make it. The two cousins sat on a log, contentedly
surveying their work, and talking of the time when
the grain was to be put in. It was about the begin-
ning of the second week in May, as near as they
could guess from the bursting of the forest buds and
the blooming of such of the flowers as they were
acquainted with. Hector's eyes had followed the

" THE HILLS TO THE EAST ARE ON FIRE ! " 233

flight of a large eagle that now, turning from the
lake, soared away majestically toward the east or
Oak Hills. But soon his eye was attracted to
another object. The loftiest part of the ridge was
enveloped in smoke. At first he thought it must be
some mist-wreath hovering over its brow ; but soon
the dense, rolling clouds rapidly spread on each side,
and he felt certain that it was from fire, and nothing
but fire, that those dark volumes arose.

" Louis, look yonder ! the hills to the east are on fire I ''

" On fire. Hector ? you are dreaming !"

"Nay, but look there!"

The hills were now shrouded in one dense, rolling
cloud. It moved on with fearful rapidity down the
shrubby side of the hill, supplied by the dry, withered
foliage and deer-grass, which was like stubble to the
flames.

" It is two miles off, or more," said Louis ; " and
the creek will stop its progress long before it comes
near us, and the swamp there beyond Bare Hill."

" The cedars are as dry as tinder ; and as to the
creek, it is so narrow a burning tree falling across
would convey the fire to this side ; besides, when the
wind rises, as it always does when the bush is on
fire, you know how far the burning leaves will fly.
Do you remember when the forest was on fire last
spring how long it continued to bum and how fiercely
it raged? It was lighted by the ashes of your
father's pipe when he was out in the new fallow.
The leaves were dry, and kindled, and before night
the woods were burning for miles."

234 TUE WORK OF THE INDIANS.

** It was a grand spectacle, those pine-bills, when
the fire got in among them/' said Louis. " See ! see
Iiow fast the fires kindle ! That must be some fallen
pine that they have got hold of. Now, look at tbe
lighting up of that hill ; is it not grand ?"

" If the wind would but change, and bkiw in fhe
opposite direction/' said Hector anxiously.

" The wind, mon ami, seems to have little influence ;
for as long as the fire finds fuel from the dry bushes
and grass, it drives on, even against the wind.'*

As they spoke the wind freshened, and they could
plainly see a long line of wicked, bright flames in
advance of the dense mass of vapour which bung in
its rear. On it came, that rolling sea of flame, with
inconceivable rapidity, gathering strength as it ad-
vanced. The demon of destruction spread its red
wings to the blast, rushing on with fiery speed, and
soon hill and valley were wrapped in one sheet of
fiame.

" It must have been the work of the Indians,** said
Louis. " We had better make a retreat to the island,
in case of the fire crossing the valley. We must not
neglect the canoe. If the fire sweeps round by the
swamp, it may come upon us unawares, and then the
loss of the canoe would prevent escape by the laka
But here are the girls ; let us consult them."

" It is the Indian burning/' said Indiana ; " that is
the reason there are so few big trees on that hilL
They bum it to make the grass better for the deer."

Hector had often pointed out to Louis the appear^
ance of fire having scorched the bark of the trees

I h

• I

:

i.-l

A MAGNIFICENT SPECTACLE. 237

where they were at work, but it seemed to have
been many years back ; and when they were diggmg
for the site of the root-house * below the bank, which
they had just finished, they had met with charred
wood at the depth of six feet below the soil, which
must have lain there till the earth had accumulated
over it. A period of many years must necessarily
have passed since the wood had been burned, as it
was so much decomposed as to crumble beneath the
wooden shovel they were digging with.

All day they watched the progress of that fiery sea
whose waves were fiame — ^red, rolling flame. On-
ward it came with resistless speed, overpowering
every obstacle, widening its sphere of action, till it
formed a perfect semicircle about them. As the
night drew on, the splendour of the scene became
more apparent, and the path of the fire better de-
fined; but there was no fear of the conflagration
spreading as it had done in the day-time. The wind
had sunk, and the copious dews of evening effectually
put a stop to the progress of the fire. The children
could now gaze in security upon the magnificent
spectacle before them without the excitement pro-
duced by its rapid spread during the day-time. They
lay down to sleep in perfect security that night, but
with the consciousness that, as the breeze sprung up
in the morning, they must be on the alert to secure
their little dwelling and its contents from the devas-
tation that threatened it. They knew they had no

" Root-houses are built over deep excavations below the reach of the £roBt> or
the roots stored would be spoiled.

238 " LET us HOLD A COUNCIL."

power to stop its onward course, as they possessed no
implement better than a rough wooden shovel, which
would be found very ineffectual in opening a trench
or turning the ground up, so as to cut off the com-
munication with the dry grass, leaves, and branches
which are the fuel for supplying the fires on the
Plains. The little clearing on one side the house
they thought would be its safeguard, but the fire was
advancing on three sides of them.

" Let us hold a council, as the Indians do, to con-
sider what is to be done."

" I propose," said Louis, " retreating, bag and bag-
gage, to the nearest point of Long Island."

" My French cousin has well spoken," said Hector,
mimicking the Indian mode of speaking ; " but listen
to the words of the wise. I propose to take all our
household stores that are of the most value to the
island, and lodge the rest safely in our new root-
house, first removing from its neighbourhood all such
light, loose matter as is likely to take fire. The
earthen roof will save it from destruction. As to the
shanty, it must take its chance to stand or fall."

" The fence of the little clearing will be burned,
no doubt. Well, never mind ; better that than our
precious selves. And the corn, fortunately, is not
yet sown," said Louis.

Hector's advice met with general approval, and the
girls soon set to work to secure the property they
meant to leave.

It was a fortunate thing that the root-house had
been finished, as it formed a secure store-house for

THE FLIGHT. 239

their goods, and could also be made available as a
hiding-place from the Indians, in time of need. The
boys carefully scraped away all the combustible
matter from its vicinity and that of the house ; but
the rapid increase of the fire now warned them to
hurry down to join Catharine and the young Mo-
hawk, who had gone off to the lake shore with such
things as they required to take with them.

CHAPTER XI

" I know a lake where the cool waves break
And softly fall on the silver sand ;
And no stranger intrudes on that soUtude,
And no voices bnt ours disturb the strand."

Irish Song.

HE breeze had sprung up, and had ah-eady
brought the fire down as far as the creek.
The swamp had long been on fire; and
now the flames were leaping among the
decayed timbers, roaring and crackling among the
pines, and rushing to the tops of the cedars, spring-
ing from heap to heap of the fallen branches, and
filling the air with dense volumes of black and sufib-
cating smoke. So quickly did the flames advance
that Hector and Louis had only time to push off
the canoe before the heights along the shore were
wrapped in smoke and fire. Many a giant oak and
noble pine fell crashing to the earth, sending up
showers of red sparks as its burning trunk shivered
in its fall. Glad to escape from the suffocating
vapour, the boys quickly paddled out to the island,
enjoying the cool, fresh air of the lake. Reposing on
the grass beneath the trees, they passed the day
sheltered from the noonday sun, and watched the

IN A PLACE OP SAPETY. 241

progress of the fire upon the shore. At night the
girls slept securely under the canoe, which they raised
on one side by means of forked sticks stuck in the
ground.

It was a grand sight to see the burning Plains at
night reflected on the water. A thousand flaming
torches flickered upon its still surface, to which the
glare of a gas-lighted city would have been dim and
dull by contrast.

Louis and Hector would speculate on the probable
chances of the shanty escaping from the fire, and of
the fence remaining untouched. Of the safety of the
root-house they entertained no fear, as the grass was
already springing green on the earthen roof; and
below they had taken every precaution to secure its
safety, by scraping up the- earth near it.*

Catharine lamented for the lovely spring-flowers
that would be destroyed by the fire.

" We shall have neither huckleberries nor straw-
berries this summer," she said mournfully ; " and the
pretty roses and bushes will be scorched, and the
ground black and dreary."

" The fire passes so rapidly over that it does not
destroy many of the forest trees, only the dead ones
are destroyed; and that, you know, leaves more space
for the living ones to grow and thrive in," said

* Many a crop of grain and comfortable homestead has been saved by taming
a furrove round the field ; and great conflagrations have been effectually stopped
by men beating the fire out with spades, and hoeing up the fresh earth so as to
cut off all communication with the dry roots, grass, and leaves that feed its on-
ward progress. Water, even could it be got, which is often impossible, is not
nearly so effectual in stopping the progress of fire ; even women and little children
can assist in such emergencies.

(721) 16

242 AT THE BITD OF TWO DATS.

Hector. ** I have seen the year after a fire has run
in the bush, a new and fresh set of plants spring
up, and even some that looked withered recover; the
earth is renewed and manured by the ashes ; -and it
is not so great a misfortune as it at first appears.*'

" But how black and dismal the burned pine- woods
look for years ! " said Louis ; " I do not think there
is a more melancholy sight in life than one of those
burned pine-woods. There it stands, year after year,
with the black, branchless trees pointing up to the
blue sky, as if crying for vengeance against those
that kindled the fii^."

"They do, indeed, look ugly," said Catharine; "yet
the girdled ones look very nearly as ilL"*

At the end of two days the fire had ceased to rage,
though the dim smoke-wreaths to the westward
showed where the work of destruction was still
going on.

As there was no appearance of any Indians on the
lake, nor yet at the point (Anderson's Point, as it is
now called) on the other side, they concluded the
fire had possibly originated by accident, — some
casual hunter or trapper having left his camp-fire
unextinguished; but as they were not very likely
to come across the scene of the conflagration, they
decided on returning back to their old home without
delay. It was with some feeling of anxiety that
they hastened to see what evil had befallen their
shanty.

'* The girdled pines are killed by barking them round, to facilitate the
clearing.

" THE SHANTY IS BURNED 1 " 243

"The shanty is burned!" was the simultaneous
exclamation of both Louis and Hector, as they
reached the rising ground that should have com-
manded a view of its roof. " It is well for us that
we secured our things in the root-house," said
Hector.

"Well, if that is safe, who cares? we can soon
build up a new house, larger and better than the old
one," said Louis. " The chief part of our fence is gone,
too, I see ; but that we can renew at our leisure ; no
hurry, if we get it done a month hence, say I. — Come,
ma belle, do not look so sorrowful. There is our little
squaw will help us to set up a capital wigwam while
the new house is building."

" But the nice table that you made, Louis, and the
benches and shelves ! "

" Never mind, Cathy ; we will have better tables,
and benches, and shelves too. Never fear, ma chere ;
the same industrious Louis will make things comfort-
able. I am not sorry the old shanty is down; we
shall have a famous one put up, twice as large, for
the winter. After the com is planted we shall have
nothing else to do but to think about it."

The next two or three days were spent in erecting
a wigwam, with poles and birch bark; and as the
weather was warm and pleasant, they did not feel
the inconvenience so much as they would have done
had it been earlier in the season. The root-house
formed an excellent store-house and pantry; and
Indiana contrived, in putting up the wigwam, to leave
certain loose folds between the birch-bark lining and

244 ERECTINQ A NEW LOG-HOUSE.

outer covering, which formed a series of pouches or
bags, in which many articles could be stowed away
out of sight.*

While the girls were busy contriving the arrange-
ments of the wigwam, the two boys were not idle.
The time was come for planting the com ; a succes-
sion of heavy thunder-showers had soaked and
softened the scorched earth, and rendered the labour
of moving it much easier than they had anticipated.
They had cut for themselves wooden trowels, with
which they raised the hills for the seed. The com
planted, they next turned their attention to cutting
house-logs ; those which they had prepared had been
burned up, so they had their labour to begin again.

The two girls proved good helps at the raising;
and in the course of a few weeks they had the com-
fort of seeing a more commodious dwelling than the
former one put up. The finishing of this, with weed-
ing the Indian com, renewing the fence, and fishing,
and trapping, and shooting partridges and ducks and
pigeons, fully occupied their time this summer. The
fruit season was less abundant this year than the
previous one. The fire had done this mischief, and
they had to go far a-field to collect fruits during the
summer months.

It so happened that Indiana had gone out early one
morning with the boys, and Catharine was alone.
She had gone down to the spring for water, and on
her return was surprised at the sight of a squaw and

* In this way the winter wigwams of the Indians are constructed so as to give
plenty of stowing room for all their little household matters, materials for work.

A MUTUAL SURPRISE.

her family of three half-grown lads, and an innocent
little brown papoose." In their turn the strangers

seemed equally astonished at Catharine's appear-
ance.

• An Indtin hthy; bot "papoose" i> not ut IndUn word. It [> ppob»bljr

246 CATHARINE ENTERTAINS THE 8TRANGER&

The smiling aspect and good-natured laugh of the
female, however, soon reassured the frightened girl,
and she gladly gave her the water which she had in
her birch dish, on her signifying her desire for drink.
To this Catharine added some berries and dried veni-
son, and a bit of maple sugar, which was received
with grateful looks by the boys; she patted the
brown baby, and was glad when the mother released
it from its wooden cradle, and fed and nursed it.
The squaw seemed to notice the difference between
the colour of her young hostess's fair skin and her
own swarthy hue; for she often took her hand,
stripped up the sleeve of her dress, and compared her
arm with her own, uttering exclamations of astonish-
ment and curiosity : possibly Catharine was the first
of a fair-skinned race this poor savage had ever seen.
After her meal was finished, she set the birchen dish
on the floor, and restrapping the papoose in its cradle
prison, she slipped the basswood-bark rope over her
forehead, and silently signing to her sons to follow
her, she departed. That evening a pair of ducks
were found fastened to the wooden latch of the door,
a silent offering of gratitude for the refreshment that
had been afforded to this Indian woman and her
children.

Indiana thought, from Catharine's description, that
these were Indians with whom she was acquainted ;
she spent some days in watching the lake and the
ravine, lest a larger and more formidable party should
be near. The squaw, she said, was a widow, and
went by the name of Mother Snowstorm, from hav-

THE LITTLE LOQ-HOUSE. 247

ing been lost in the woods, when a little child, during
a heavy storm of snow, and nearly starved to death.
She was a gentle, kind woman, and, she believed,
would not do any of them hurt. Her sons were good
hunters, and, though so young, helped to support
their mother, and were very good to her and the
little one.

I must now pass over a considerable interval of
time, with merely a brief notice that the crop of com
was carefully harvested, and proved abundant, and a
source of great comfort. The rice was gathered and
stored, and plenty of game and fish laid by, with an
additional store of honey.

The Indians, for some reason, did not pay their
accustomed visit to the lake this season. Indiana
said they might be engaged with war among some
hostile tribes, or had gone to other hunting-grounds.
The winter was unusually mild, and it was long
before it set in. Yet the spring following was tardy,
and later than usual. It was the latter end of May
before vegetation had made any very decided pro-
gress.

The little log-house presented a neat and comfort-
able appearance, both within and without. Indiana
had woven a handsome mat of bass bark for the floor:
Louis and Hector had furnished it with seats and a
table, rough, but still very respectably constructed,
considering their only tools were a tomahawk, a
knife, and wooden wedges for splitting the wood into
slabs. These Louis afterwards smoothed with great
care and patience. Their bedsteads were furnished

248 AFTER TWO TEARS* WANDERINGS.

with thick, soft mats, woven by Indiana and Catha-
rine from rushes which they cut and dried ; but the
little squaw herself preferred lying on a mat or deer-
skin on the floor before the fire, as she had been
accustomed.

A new field had been enclosed, and a fresh crop of
corn planted, which was now green and flourishing.
Peace and happiness dwelt within the log-house; but
for the regrets that ever attended the remembrance
of all they had left and lost, no doud would have
dimmed the serenity of those who dwelt beneath its
humble roof.

The season of flowers had again arrived; the earth,
renovated by the fire of the former year, bloomed
with fresh beauty ; June, with its fragrant store of
roses and lilies, was now far advanced — the anniver-
sary of that time when they had left their beloved
parents' roofs, to become sojourners in the lonely
wilderness, had returned. They felt they had much
to be grateful for. Many privations, it is true, and
much anxiety they had felt ; but they had enjoyed
blessings beyond what they could have expected, and
might, like the psalmist when recounting the escapes
of the people of God, have said, " Oh that men would
therefore praise the Lord for his goodness, and the
wonders that he doeth for the children of men."
And now they declared no greater evil could befall
them than to lose one of their little party, for even
Indiana had become as a dear and beloved sister; her
gentleness, her gratitude, and faithful trusting love
seemed each day to increase. Now, indeed, she was

THE APPROACH OP EVIL. 249

bound to them by a yet more sacred tie, for she knelt
to the same God, and acknowledged, with fervent
love, the mercies of her Redeemer. She had made
great progress in learning their language, and had
also taught her friends to speak and understand much
of her own tongue, so that they were now no longer
at a loss to converse with her on any subject. Thus
was this Indian girl united to them in bonds of social
and Christian love.

Hector, Louis, and Indiana had gone over the hills
to follow the track of a deer which had paid a visit
to the young com, now sprouting and showing
symptoms of shooting up to blossom. Catharine
usually preferred staying at home and preparing
the meals against their return. She had gathered
some fine ripe strawberries, to add to the stewed
rice, Indian meal cake, and maple sugar, for their
dinner. She was weary and warm, for the day had
been hot and sultry. Seating herself on the threshold
of the door, she leaned against the door-post, and
closed her eyes. Perhaps the poor child's thoughts
were wandering back to her far-off, unforgotten
home, or she might be thinking of the hunters and
their game. Suddenly a vague, undefinable feeling
of dread stole over her mind. She heard no steps,
she felt no breath, she saw no form ; but there was a
strange consciousness that she was not alone — that
some unseen being was near, some eye was upon
her. I have heard of sleepers starting from sleep
the most profound when the noiseless hand of the
assassin has been raised to destroy them, as if the

250 A FEARFUL APPEARANCE.

power of the human eye could be felt through the
closed lids.

Thus fared it with Catharine. She felt as if some
unseen enemy was near her, and springing to her
feet, she cast a wild, troubled glance around. No
living being met her eye; and, ashamed of her
cowardice, she resumed her seat The tremulous cry
of her little gray squirrel, a pet which she had tamaA
and taught to nestle in her bosom, attraot^d her
attention,

" What aileth thee, wee dearie ? " abe said tenderly,
as the timid little creature crept trembling to her
breast. " Thy mistress has scared thee by her own
foolish fears. See, now, there is neither catamount
nor weasel here to seize thee, silly one ; " and as she
spoke, she raised her head and flung back the thick
clusters of soft fair hair that shaded her eyes. The
deadly glare of a pair of dark eyes fixed upon her
met her terrified gaze, gleaming with sullen ferocity
from the angle of the door-post, whence the upper
part of the face alone was visible, partly concealed
by a mat of tangled, shaggy black hair. Paralyzed
with fear, the poor girl neither spoke nor moved;
she uttered no cry ; but pressing her hands tightly
across her breast, as if to still the loud beating of her
heart, she sat gazing upon that fearful appearance,
while, with stealthy step, the savage advanced from
his lurking-place, keeping, as he did so. his eyes
riveted upon hers, with such a gaze as the wily ser-
pent is said to fascinate its prey. His hapless victim
moved not ; — whither could she flee to escape one

CATHARINE CARRIED OFF. 251

whose fleet foot could so easily have overtaken her
in the race ? where conceal herself from him whose
wary eye fixed upon her seemed to deprive her of
all vital energy ?

Uttering that singular, expressive guttural which
seems with the Indian to answer the purpose of every
other exclamation, he advanced, and taking the girl's
ice-cold hands in his, tightly bound them with a
thong of deer-hide, and led her unresistingly away.
By a circuitous path through the ravine they reached
the foot of the mount, where lay a birch canoe, rock-
ing gently on the waters, in which a middle-aged
female and a young girl were seated. The females
asked no questions, and expressed no word indicative
of curiosity or surprise, as the strong arm of the
Indian lifted his captive into the canoe, and made
signs to the elder squaw to push from the shore.
When all had taken their places, the woman, catching
up a paddle from the bottom of the little vessel,
stood up, and with a few rapid strokes sent it
skimming over the lake.

The miserable captive, overpowered with the sense
of her calamitous situation, bowed down her head
upon her knees, and concealing her agitated face in
her garments, wept in silent agony. Visions of
horror presented themselves to her bewildered brain ;
all that Indiana had described of the cruelty of this
vindictive race came vividly before her mind. Poor
child, what miserable thoughts were thine during
that brief voyage !

Had the Indians also captured her friends? or was

SAD QCBSTIOKINGS.

slie alone to be tihe victim o£ their vengeance? What
would be the feelings of those beloved ones on return-

ing to their home and finding it desolate! Was there
no hope of release ^ As these ideas chased each other
through her agitated mind she raised her eyes, all

A HEARTLESS FOE. 253

streaming with tears, to the faces of the Indian and
his companions with so piteous a look that any heart
but the stoical one of an Indian would have softened
at its sad appeal ; but no answering glance of sym-
pathy met hers, no eye gave back its silent look of
pity — ^not a nerve or a muscle moved the cold, apa-
thetic features of the Indians ; and the woe-stricken
girl again resumed her melancholy attitude, burying
her face in her heaving bosom to hide its bitter
emotions from the heartless strangers.

She was not fully aware that it is part of the
Indian's education to hide the inward feelings of the
heart, to check all those soft and tender emotions
which distinguish the civilized man from the savage.

It does indeed need the softening influence of that
powerful Spirit, which was shed abroad into the
world to turn the hearts of the disobedient to the
wisdom of the just, to break down the strongholds of
unrighteousness, and to teach man that he is by
nature the child of wrath and victim of sin, and that
in his unregenerated nature his whole mind is at
enmity with God and his fellow-men, and that in his
flesh dwelleth no good thing. And the Indian has
acknowledged that power; he has cast his idols of
cruelty and revenge, those virtues on which he prided
himself in the blindness of his heart, to the moles and
the bats; he has bowed and adored at the foot of the
Cross. But it was not so in the days whereof I have
spoken.

CHAPTER XII

*' Must thli sweet new-blown rose find sudi a winter
Before her spring be past?"

Bkaumont and Flztchkb.

HE little baxk touched the stony point of
Long Island. The Indian lifted his weep-
ing prisoner from the canoe, and motioned
to her to move forward along the narrow
path that led to the camp, about twenty yards higher
up the bank, where there was a little grassy spot
enclosed with shrubby trees ; the squaws tarried at
the lake-shore to bring up the paddles and secure the
canoe.

It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of an
enemy, but doubly so when that enemy is a stranger
to the language in which we would plead for mercy,
whose god is not our God, nor his laws those by
which we ourselves are governed. Thus felt the
poor captive as she stood alone, mute with terror,
among the half -naked, dusky forms with which she
now found herself surrounded. She cast a hurried
glance round that strange assembly, if by chance her
eye might rest upon some dear fanjiliar face; but she
saw not the kind but grave face of Hector, nor met

THE FORLORN CAPTIVE. 255

the bright sparkling eyes of her cousin Louis, nor the
soft, subdued, pensive features of the Indian girl,
her adopted sister. She stood alone among those
wild, gloomy-looking men ; some turned away their
eyes as if they would not meet her woe-stricken
countenance, lest they should be moved to pity her
sad condition. No wonder that, overcome by the
sense of her utter forlomness, she hid her face with
her fettered hands and wept in despair. But the
Indian's sympathy is not moved by tears and sighs ;
calmness, courage, defiance of danger, and contempt
of death, are what he venerates and admires even in
an enemy.

The Indians beheld her grief unmoved. At length
the old man, who seemed to be a chief among the
rest, motioned to one of the women who leaned against
the side of the wigwam to come forward and lead
away the stranger, Catharine, whose senses were
beginning to be more collected, heard the old man
give orders that she was to be fed and cared for.
Gladly did she escape from the presence of those
pitiless men, from whose gaze she shrunk with
maidenly modesty. And now when alone with the
women she hesitated not to make use of that natural
language which requires not the aid of speech to
make itself understood. Clasping her hands implorr
ingly, she knelt at the feet of the Indian woman, her
conductress, kissed her dark hands, and bathed them
with her fast-flowing tears, while she pointed passion-
ately to the shore where lay the happy home from
which she had been so suddenly torn.

256 THE COMPASSIONATE SQUAW.

The squaw, though she evidently comprehended
the meaning of her imploring gestures, shook her
head, and in plaintive earnest tone replied in her own
language that she must go with the canoes to the
other shore, and she pointed to the north as she spoke.
She then motioned to the young girl —the same that
had been Catharine's companion in the canoe — ^to
bring a hunting-knife which was thrust into one of
the folds of the birch-bark of the wigwam. Catha-
rine beheld the deadly weapon in the hands of the
Indian woman with a pang of agony as great as if its
sharp edge was already at her throat. So young —
so young, to die by a cruel, bloody death ! what had
been her crime? How should she find words to
soften the heart of her murderess? The power of
utterance seemed denied. She cast herself on her
knees and held up her hands in silent prayer ; not to
the dreaded Indian woman, but to Him who heareth
the prayer of the poor destitute — who alone can
order the unruly wills and affections of men.

The squaw stretched forth one dark hand and
grasped the arm of the terror-stricken girl, while the
other held the weapon of destruction. With a quick
movement she severed the thongs that bound the
fettered wrists of the pleading captive, and with a
smile that seemed to light up her whole face she
raised her from her prostrate position, laid her hand
upon her young head, and with an expression of
good-humoured surprise lifted the flowing tresses of
her sunny hair and spread them over the back of her
own swarthy hand ; then, as if amused by the strik-

A GLEAM OF HOPE. 257

ing contrast, she shook down her own jetty-black
hair and twined a tress of it with one of the fair-
haired girrs, then laughed till her teeth shone like
pearls within her red lips. Many were the exclama-
tions of childish wonder that broke from the other
females as they compared the snowy arm of the
stranger with their own dusky skins : it was plain
that they had no intention of harming her, and by
degrees distrust and dread of her singular companions
began in some measure to subside.

The squaw motioned her to take a seat on a mat
beside her, and gave her a handful of parched rice
and some deer s flesh to eat ; but Catharine's heart
was too heavy. She was suffering from thirst; and on
pronouncing the Indian word for water, the young
girl snatched up a piece of birch-bark from the floor
of the tent, and gathering the comers together, ran
to the lake, and soon returned with water in this
most primitive drinking-vessel, which she held to the
lips of her guest, and she seemed amused by the long,
deep draught with which Catharine slaked her thirst.
Something like a gleam of hope came over Catharine's
mind as she marked the look of kindly feeling with
which she caught the young Indian girl regarding her,
and she strove to overcome the choking sensation
that would from time to time rise to her throat as
she fluctuated between hope and fear. The position
of the Indian camp was so placed that it was quite
hidden from the shore, and Catharine could neither
see the mouth of the ravine, nor the steep side of the
mount that her brother and cousin were accustomed

(721) 17

358 A SAD DAT.

to ascend and descend in their visits to the lake-
shore, nor had she any means of making a signal to
them even if she had seen them on the beach.

The long, anxious, watchful night passed, and soon
after sunrise, while the morning mists still hung over
the lake, the canoes of the Indians were launched,
and long before noon they were in the mouth of the
river. Catharine's heart sunk within her as the fast
receding shores of the lake showed each minute
fainter in the distance. At mid-day they halted at a
fine bend in the river, and landed on a small open
place where a creek flowing down through the woods
afibrded them cool water ; here they found several
tents put up and. a larger party awaiting their return.
The river was here a fine, broad, deep, and tranquil
stream; trees of many kinds fringed the edge;
beyond was the unbroken forest, whose depths had
never been pierced by the step of man — ^so thick and
luxuriant was the vegetation that even the Indian
could hardly have penetrated through its dark,
swampy glades: far as the eye could reach, that
impenetrable, interminable wall of verdure stretched
away into the far-off distance.

All the remainder of that sad day Catharine sat on
the grass under a shady tree, her eyes mournfully
fixed on the slow-flowing waters, and wondering at
her own hard fate in beinff thus torn from her home
and its dear inmates. Bad as she had thought her
separation from her father and mother and her
brothers, when she first left her home to become a
wanderer on the Rice Lake Plains, how much more

DESOLATION OF SPIRIT. 259

dismal now was her situation, snatched from the dear
companions who had upheld and cheered her on in
all her sorrows! Now that she was alone with none
to love or cherish or console her, she felt a desolation
of spirit that almost made her forgetful of the trust
that had hitherto always sustained her in time of
trouble or sickness. She looked round, and her eye
fell on the strange, unseemly forms of men and
women who cared not for her, and to whom she was
an object of indiiference or aversion ; she wept when
she thought of the grief her absence would occasion
to Hector and Louis; the thought of their distress
increased her own.

The soothing quiet of the scene, with the low, lull-
ing sound of the little brook as its tiny wavelets fell
tinkling over the mossy roots and stones that impeded
its course to the river, joined with fatigue and long
exposure to the sun and air, caused her at length to
fall asleep. The last rosy light of the setting sun
was dyeing the waters with a glowing tint when she
awoke; a soft blue haze hung upon the trees; the
kingfisher and dragon-fly, and a solitary loon, were
the only busy things abroad on the river, — the first
darting up and down from an upturned root, near the
water s edge, feeding its younglings ; the dragon-fly
hawking with rapid whirring sound for insects ; and
the loon, just visible from above the surface of the
still stream, sailing quietly on companionless like her
who watched its movements.

The bustle of the hunters returning with game and
fish to the encampment roused many a sleepy brown

A FRTBtO) IN NEED.

papoose; the fires were renewed, the evening meal
was now preparing, and Catharine, chilled by the
falling dew, crept to the enlivening warmth. And
here she was pleased at being recognized by one
friendly face ; it was the mild, benevolent counte-
nance of the widow Snowstorm, who, with her three
sons, came to bid her to share their camp fire and
food. The kindly grasp of the hand and the beaming
smile that were given by this good creature, albeit she
was ugly and ill-featured, cheered the sad captive's
heart. She had given her a eup of cold water and
such food as her log-cabin afforded ; in return the
good Indian took her to her wigwam and fed.

THE INDIAN WIDOW. 261

warmed, and cherished her with the loving-kindness
of a Christian. During all her sojourn in the Indian
camp, the widow Snowstorm was as a tender mother
to her, drying her tears and showing her those little
acts of attention that even the imtaught Indians
know are grateful to the sorrowful and destitute.
Catharine often forgot her own griefs to repay this
worthy creature's kindness, by attending to her little
babe, and assisting her in her homely cookery or
household work. She knew that a selfish indulgence
in sorrow would do her no good, and after the lapse
of some days she so well disciplined her own heart as
to check her tears, at least in the presence of the
Indian women, and to assume an air of comparative
cheerfulness. Once she found Indian words enough
to ask the Indian widow to convey her back to the
lake, but she shook her head and bade her not think
anything about it ; and added that in autumn, when
the ducks came to the rice-beds, they should all
return, and then if she could obtain leave from the
chief, she would restore her to her lodge on the
Plains; but signified to her that patience was her
only present remedy, and that submission to the will
of the chief was her wisest plan. Comforted by this
vague promise, Catharine strove to be reconciled to
her strange lot and still stranger companions. She
was surprised at the want of curiosity respecting her
evinced by the Indians in the wigwam when she
was brought thither; they appeared to take little
notice that a stranger, and one so dissimilar to them-
selves, had been introduced into the camp. Catha-

262 THE TOUNO SQUAW.

rine learned, by long acquaintance with this people,
that an outward manifestation of surprise is con-
sidered a want of etiquette and good-breeding, or
rather a proof of weakness and childishness. The
women, like other females, are certainly less disposed
to repress this feeling of inquisitiveness than the men;
and one of their great sources of amusement, when
Catharine was among them, was examining the dif-
ference of texture and colour of her skin and hair,
and holding long consultations over them. The
young girl and her mother, who had paddled the
canoe the day she was carried away to the island,
showed her much kindness in a quiet way. The
young squaw was grand-daughter to the old chief,
and seemed to be regarded with considerable respect
by the rest of the women ; she was a gay, lively
creature, often laughing, and seemed to enjoy an
inexhaustible fund of good humour. She extended
her patronage to the young stranger by making her
eat out of her own bark-dish and sit beside her on
her own mat. She wove a chain for her of the
sweet-scented grass with which the Indians delight
in adorning themselves, likewise in perfuming their
lodges with bunches or stre wings upon the floor.
She took great pains in teaching her how to acquire
the proper attitude of sitting, after the fashion of the
Eastern nations, which position the Indian women
assume when at rest in their wigwams.

The Indian name of this little damsel signified the
" snow-bird." She was, like that lively, restless bird,
always flitting from tent to tent, as garrulous and

* MYSTERIOUS OARMEXTa 263

as cheerful too as that merry little herald of the
spring.

Once she seemed particularly attracted by Catha-
rine's dress, which she examined with critical minute-
ness, evincing great surprise at the cut fringes of
dressed doe-skin with which Indiana had ornamented
the border of the short jacket she had manufactured
for Catharine. These fringes she pointed out to the
notice of the women, and even the old chief was
called in to examine the dress ; nor did the leggings
and moccasins escape their observation. There was
something mysterious about her garments. Catha-
rine was at a loss to imagine what caused those deep
guttural exclamations, somewhat between a grunt
and a groan, that burst from the lips of the Indians,
as they one by one examined her dress with deep at-
tention. These people had recognized in these things
the peculiar fashion and handiwork of the young
Mohawk girl whom they had exposed to perish by
himger 'and thirst on Bare Hill ; and much their
interest was excited to learn by what means Catha-
rine had become possessed of a dress wrought by
the hand of one whom they had numbered with the
dead. Strange and mysterious did it seem to them,
and warily did they watch the unconscious object of
their wonder.

The knowledge she possessed of the language of
her friend Indiana enabled Catharine to comprehend
a great deal of what was said; yet she prudently
refrained from speaking in the tongue of one to whose
whole nation she knew these people to be hostile.

264 A STRANGE BEINQ.

But she sedulously endeavoured to learn their own
peculiar dialect; and in this she succeeded in an
incredibly short time, so that she was soon able to
express her own wants, and converse a little with
the females who were about her.

She had noticed that among the tents there was
one which stood apart from the rest, and was only
visited by the old chief and his grand-daughter, or by
the elder women. At first she imagined it was some
sick person, or a secret tent set apart for the worship
of the Great Spirit ; but one day, when the chief of
the people had gone up the river hunting, and the
children were asleep, the curtain of skins was drawn
back, and a female of singular and striking beauty
appeared in the open space in front. She was habited
in a fine tunic of white dressed doe-skin, richly em-
broidered with coloured beads and stained quills ; a
full petticoat of dark cloth bound with scarlet
descended to her ankles ; leggings fringed with deer-
skin, knotted with bands of coloured quills, with
richly wrought moccasins on her feet. On her head
she wore a coronet of scarlet and black feathers ; her
long shining tresses of raven hair descended to her
waist, each thick tress confined with a braided band
of quills, dyed scarlet and blue. She was tall and
well-formed; her large, liquid, dark eyes wore an
expression so proud and mournful that Catharine
felt her own involuntarily fill with tears as she gazed
upon this singular being. She would have approached
nearer to her, but a spell seemed on her ; she shrunk
back timid and abashed beneath that wild, melan-

THE " GREAT MEDICINE " SQUAW. 265

choly glance. It was she, the Beam of the Morning,
the self-made widow of the young Mohawk, whose
hand had wrought so fearful a vengeance on the
treacherous destroyer of her brother. She stood
there, at the tent-door, arrayed in her bridal robes,
as on the day when she received her death-doomed
victim. And when she recalled her fearful deed,
shuddering with horror, Catharine drew back and
shrouded herself within the tent, fearing again to
fall under the eye of that terrible woman. She
remembered how Indiana had told her that since
that fatal marriage-feast she had been kept apart
from the rest of the tribe, — she was regarded by her
people as a sacred character, entitled the Great Medi-
cine, a female brave, a being whom they regarded
with mysterious reverence. She had made this great
sacrifice for the good of her nation. Indiana said it
was believed among her own folk that she had loved
the young Mohawk passionately, as a tender woman
loves the husband of her youth; yet she had not
hesitated to sacrifice him with her own hand. Such
was the deed of the Indian heroine — and such
were the virtues of the unregenerated Greeks and
Romans!

CHAPTER XIII.

" Now where the wave, with loud, unquiet song.
Dashed o'er the rocky channel, froths along.
Or where the silver waters sooUied to rest,
The tree's tall shadow sleeps upon its breast.*^— CoLSRiDaE.

BE Indian camp remained for nearly three
weeks on this spot, and then early one
morning the wigwams were all taken
down, and the canoes, six in number, pro-*
ceeded up the river. There was very little variety
in the scenery to interest Catharine. The river still
kept its slow-flowing course between low shores
thickly clothed with trees, without an opening through
which the eye might pierce to form an idea of the
country beyond ; not a clearing, not a sight or sound
of civilized man was there to be seen or heard ; the
darting flight of the wild birds as they flitted across
from one side to the other, the tapping of the wood-
pecker, or shrill cry of the blue jay was all that was
heard, from sunrise to sunset, on that monotonous
voyage. After many hours, a decided change was
perceived in the current, which ran at a considerable
increase of swiftness, so that it required the united
energy of both men and women to keep the light

UP THE OTONABEE. 267

vesseb from drifting down the river again. They
were in the rapids, and it was hard work to stem
the tide and keep the upward course of the waters.
At length the rapids were passed, and the weary
Indian voyagers rested for a space on the bosom of a
small but tranquil lake. The rising moon shed her
silvery light upon the calm water, and heaven's
stars shone down into its quiet depths, as the canoes
with their dusky freight parted the glittering rays
with their light paddles. As they proceeded onward
the banks rose on either side, still fringed with pines,
cedars, and oaks. At an angle of the lake the banks
on either side ran out into two opposite peninsulas,
forming a narrow passage or gorge, contracting the
lake once more into the appearance of a broad river,
much wider from shore to shore than any other part
they had passed through since they had left the
entrance at the Bice Lake.

Catharine became interested in the change of
scenery ; her eye dwelt with delight on the forms of
glorious spreading oaks and lofty pines, green cliiff-
like shores, and low wooded islands ; while, as they
proceeded, the sound of rapid-flowing waters met her
ear, and soon the white and broken eddies, rushing
along with impetuous course, were seen by the light
of the moon ; and while she was wondering if the
canoes were to stem those rapids, at a signal from the
old chief, the little fleet was pushed to shore on a
low flat of emerald verdure, nearly opposite to the
last island.

Here, under the shelter of some beautiful spreading

268 tNDIAH BABB&

black oaks, the women prepared to set ap their
wigwams. They had brought the poles and birch-
bark covering from the encampment below, and soon
all was bustle and business, unloading the canoes
and raising the tents. Even Catharine lent a willing
hand to assist the females in bringing up the stores
and sundry baskets containing fruits and other small
wares. She then kindly attended to the Indian
children — certain dark-skinned babes, who, boimd
upon their wooden cradles, were
either set up against the trunks
of the trees, or swung to some
lowly depending branch, there
to remain helpless and uncom-
plaining spectators of the scene.
Catharine thought these In*
dian babes were almost as much
to be pitied as herself, only
that they were unconscious of
their imprisoned state, having
from birth been used to no better treatment, and
moreover they were sure to be rewarded by the
tender caresses of loving mothers when the season of
refreshment and repose arrived ; but she, alas ! was
friendles,^ and alone, bereft of father, mother, kindred,
and friends. One Father, one Friend, poor Catharine,
thou hadst, even he, the Father of the fatherless.

That night, when the women and children were
sleeping, Catharine stole out of the wigwam, and
climbed the precipitous bank beneath the shelter of
which the lodges had been erected. She found her-

A DELIGHTFUL CONTRAST. 269

self upon a grassy plain, studded with majestic oaks
and pines, so beautifully grouped that they might
have been planted by the hand of taste upon that
velvet turf. It was a delightful contrast to those
dense dark forests through which for so many many
miles the waters of the Otonabee had flowed on
monotonously ; here it was all wild and free, dash-
ing along like a restive steed rejoicing in its liberty,
uncurbed and tameless.

Yes, here it was beautiful ! Catharine gazed
with joy upon the rushing river, and felt her own
heart expand as she marked its rapid course as it
bounded murmuring and fretting over its rocky bed.
" Happy, glorious waters ! you are not subject to the
power of any living creature ; no canoe can ascend
those surging waves. I would that I too, like thee,
were free to pursue my onward way; how soon
would I flee away and be at rest !" Such thoughts
passed through the mind of the lonely captive girl,
as she sat at the foot of a giant oak, and looked
abroad over those moonlit waters, till oppressed by
an overwhelming sense of the utter loneliness of the
scene, the timid girl with faltering step hurried down
once more to the wigwams, silently crept to the mat
where her bed was spread, and soon forgot all her
woes and wanderings in deep, tranquil sleep.

Catharine wondered that the Indians in erecting
their lodges always seemed to prefer the low, level,
and often swampy grounds by the lakes and rivers in
preference to the higher and more healthy elevations.
So disregardful are they of this circumstance, that

270 INDIAN DOMESTIC LIFE.

they do not hesitate to sleep where the ground is satur-
ated with moisture. They will then lay a temporary
flooring of cedar or any other bark beneath their
feet, rather than remove the tent a few feet higher
up, where a drier soil may always be found. This
arises either from stupidity or indolence, perhaps
from both, but it is no doubt the cause of much of
the sickness that prevails among them. With his
feet stretched to the fire, the Indian cares for nothing
else when reposing in his wigwam, and it is useless
to urge the improvement that might be made in his
comfort ; he listens with a face of apathy, and utters
his everlasting guttural, which saves him the trouhle
of a more rational reply.

" Snow-bird " informed Catharine that the lodges
would not again be removed for some time, but that
the men would hunt and fish, while the squaws pur-
sued their domestic labours. Catharine perceived
that the chief of the laborious part of the work fell
to the share of the females, who were very much
more industrious and active than their husbands;
those, when not out hunting or fishing, were to be
seen reposing in easy indolence under the shade of
the trees, or before the tent fires, giving themselves
little concern about anything that was going on.
The squaws were gentle, humble, and submissive;
they bore without a murmur pain, labour, hunger,
and fatigue, and seemed to perform every task with
patience and good-humour. They made the canoes,
in which the men sometimes assisted them, pitched
the tents, converted the skins of the animals which

,

DOMESTIC ECONOMY OF THE INDIANS. 273

the men shot into clothes, cooked the victuals, manu-
factured baskets of every kind, wove mats, dyed the
quills of the porcupine, sewed the moccasins, and, in
short, performed a thousand tasks which it would be
difficult to enumerate.

Of the ordinary household work, such as is familiar
to European females, they of course knew nothing ;
they had no linen to wash or iron, no floors to clean,
no milking of cows, nor churning of butter.

Their carpets were fresh cedar boughs spread on
the ground, and only renewed when they became
offensively dirty from the accumulation of fish-bones
and other offal, which are carelessly flung down
during meals. Of furniture they had none; their
seat the ground, their table the same, their beds mats
or skins of animals,— such were the domestic ar-
rangements of the Indian camp.*

In the tent to which Catharine belonged, which
was that of the widow and her sons, a greater degree
of order and cleanliness prevailed than in any other ;
for C^itharine's natural love of neatness and comfort
induced her to strew the floor with fresh cedar or
hemlock every day or two, and to sweep round the
front of the lodge, removing all unseemly objects
from its vicinity. She never failed to wash herself
in the river, and arrange her hair with the comb
Louis had made for her ; and she took great care of
the little child, which she kept clean and well fed.
She loved this little creature, for it was soft and

* Much improvement has taken place of late years in the domestic economy of
the Indians, and some of their dwellings are clean and neat even for Europeans.

(721) 18

274 A DOUBLE BLESSiya.

gentle, meek and playful as a little squirrel ; and the
Indian mothers all looked with kinder eyes upon the
white maiden, for the loving manner in which she
tended their children. The heart of woman is sel-
dom cold to those who cherish their offspring, and
Catharine began to experience the truth that the
exercise of human charities is equally beneficial to
those who give and those who receive ; these things
fall upon the heart as dew upon a thirsty soil, giving
and creating a blessing. But we will leave Catha-
rine for a short season, among the lodges of the
Indians, and return to Hector and Louis.

CHAPTER XIV.

" Ck}ld and forsaken, destitute of friends,
And all good comforts else, unless some tree
Whose speechless charitf doth better ours,
With which the bitter east winds made their sport,
And sang through hourlf, hath invited thee
To shelter half a daf. Shall she be thus,
And I draw in soft slumbers ?"

Beaumont and Fletchek.

T was near sunset before Hector and his
companions returned on the evening of the
eventful day that had found Catharine a
prisoner on Long Island. They had met
with good success in hunting, and brought home a
fine half -grown fawn, fat and in good order. They
were surprised at finding the fire nearly extinguished,
and no Catharine awaiting their return. There, it is
true, was the food that she had prepared for them,
but she was not to be seen. Supposing that she had
been tired of waiting for them, and had gone out to
gather strawberries, they did not at first feel anxious,
but ate of the rice and honey, for they were hungry
with long fasting. Then taking some Indian meal
cake in their hands, they went out to call her in; but
no trace of her was visible. Fearing she had set off
by herself to seek them, and had missed her way

276 SEARCHING FOR CATHARINE.

home again, they hurried back to the happy valley,
— she was not there; to Pine-tree Point, — ^no trace
of her there ; to the edge of the mount that over-
looked the lake, — she was not to be seen: night
found them unsuccessful in their search. Sometimes
they fancied that she had seated herself beneath
some tree and fallen asleep; but no one imagined
the true cause, nothing having been seen of the
Indians since they had proceeded up the river.

Again they retraced their steps back to the house ;
but they found her not there. They continued their
unavailing search till the moon setting left them in
darkness, and they lay down to rest, but not to
sleep. The first streak of dawn saw them again
hurrying to and fro, calling in vain upon the name
of the loved and lost companion of their wan-
derings.

Indiana, whose vigilance was untiring — for she
yielded not easily to grief and despair — now re-
turned with the intelligence that she had discovered
the Indian trail, through the big ravine to the lake-
shore; she had found the remains of a wreath of
oak leaves which had been worn by Catharine in her
hair ; and she had seen the mark of feet, Indian feet,
on the soft clay at the edge of the lake, and the fur-
rowing of the shingles by the pushing off of a canoe.
Poor Louis gave way to transports of grief and de-
spair ; he knew the wreath, it was such as Catharine
often made for herself, and Mathilde, and petite
Louise, and Marie; his mother had taught her to
make them ; they were linked together by the stalks.

ON THE TRAIL OF THE INDIAir& 277

and formed a sort of leaf chain. Louis placed the
torn relic in his breast, and sadly turned away to
hide his grief from Hector and the Indian girl.

Indiana now proposed searching the island for
further traces, but advised wariness in so doing.
They saw, however, neither smoke nor canoes. The
Indians had departed while they were searching the
ravines and flats round Moimt Ararat, and the lake
told no tales. The following day they ventured to
land on Long Island, and on going to the north side
saw evident traces of a temporary encampment hav-
ing been made, but no trace of any violence having
been committed. It was Indiana's opinion that,
though a prisoner, Catharine was unhurt, as the
Indians rarely killed women and children, unless
roused to do so by some signal act on the part of
their enemies, when an exterminating spirit of re-
venge induced them to kill and spare not; but
where no offence had been offered, they were not
likely to take the life of a helpless, unoffending
female. The Indian is not cruel for the wanton love
of blood, but to gratify revenge for some injury done
to himself or to his tribe. But it was difficult to still
the terrible apprehensions that haunted the minds
of Louis and Hector. They spent much time in
searching the northern shores and the distant isl-
ands, in the vain hope of finding her, as they still
thought the camp might have been moved to the
opposite side of the lake.

Inconsolable for the loss of their beloved com-
panion. Hector and Louis no longer took interest in

278 INDIANA MISSING.

what was going on ; they hardly troubled themselves
to weed the Indian corn, in which they had taken
such great delight ; all now seemed to them flat,
stale, and unprofitable ; they wandered listlessly to
and fro, silent and sad ; the sunshine had departed
from their little dwelling ; they ate little, and
talked less, each seeming absorbed in his own pain-
ful reveries.

In vain the gentle Indian girl strove to revive
their drooping spirits ; they seemed insensible to her
attentions, and often left her for hours alone. They
returned one evening about the usual hour of siinset,
and missed their meek, uncomplaining guest from
the place she was wont to occupy. They called, but
there was none to reply, — ^she too was gone. They
hurried to the shore just time enough to see the
canoe diminishing to a mere speck upon the waters,
in the direction of the mouth of the river; they
called to her, in accents of despair, to return, but the
wind wafted back no sound to their ears, and soon
the bark was lost to sight, and they sat them down
disconsolately on the shore.

"What is she doing?" said Hector. "It is cruel
to abandon us thus."

" She has gone up the river, in the hope of bring-
ing us some tidings of Catharine," said Louis.

" How came you to think that such is her in-
tention ?"

" I heard her say the other day that she would go
and bring her back, or die."

" What ! do you think she would risk the ven-

A BRAVE RESOLUTION. 279

geance of the old chief whose life she attempted to
take ?"

" She is a brave girl ; she does not fear pain or
death to serve those she loves."

" How can she, unprotected and alone, dare such
perils ? Why did she not tell us ? We would have
shared her danger."

** She feared for our lives more than for her own ;
that poor Indian girl has a noble heart. I care not
now what befalls us ; we have lost all that made life
dear to us," said Louis gloomily, sinking his head
between his knees.

" Hush, Louis ; you are older than I, and ought to
bear these trials with more courage. It was our
own fault Indiana's leaving us ; we left her so much
alone to pine after her lost companion, she seemed to
think that we did not care for her. Poor Indiana,
she must have felt lonely and sad."

"I tell you what we will do, Hec, — make a log
canoe. I found an old battered one lying on the
shore, not far from Pine-tree Point. We have an
axe and a tomahawk, — what should hinder us from
making one like it ? "

" True ! we will set about it to-morrow."

"I wish it were morning, that we might set to
work to cut down a good pine for the purpose."

"As soon as it is done, we will go up the river;
anything is better than this dreadful suspense and
inaction."

The early dawn saw the two cousins busily en-
gaged chopping' at a tree of suitable dimensions.

280 CONSTRUCTING A CANOE.

They worked hard all that day, and the next, and
the next, before the canoe was hollowed out; but,
owing to their inexperience and the bluntness of
their tools, their first attempt proved abortive — ^it
was too heavy at one end, and did not balance well
in the water.

Louis, who had been quite sure of success, was
disheartened ; not so Hector.

" Do not let us give it up ; my maxim is persever-
ance ; let us try again, and again — ay, and a fourth
and a fifth time. I say, never give it up; that is
the way to succeed at last."

" You have ten times my patience, Hec."

"Yes; but you are more pgenious than I, and
are excellent at starting an idea/'

" We are a good pair then for partnership."

" We will begin anew ; and this time I hope we
shall profit by our past blunders."

" Who would imagine that it is now mere than a
month since we lost Catharine ? "

"I know it — a long, long, weary month," replied
Louis ; and he struck his axe sharply into the bark
of the pine as he spoke, and remained silent for some
minutes. The boys, wearied by chopping down the
tree, rested from their work, and sat down on the
side of the condemned canoe to resume their con-
versation. Suddenly Louis grasped Hector's arm,
and pointed to a bark canoe that appeared making
for the westernmost point of the island. Hector
started to his feet, exclaiming, "It is Indiana re-
turned ! "

THE MYSTERIOUS FISHER. 281

" Nonsense ! Indiana ! — ^it is no such thing. Look
you, it is a stout man in a blanket coat."

" The Indians ? " asked Hector, inquiringly.

" I do not think he looks like an Indian ; but let
us watch. What is he doing ? "

" Fishing. See now, he has just caught a fine bass
— ^another — ^he has great luck — ^now he is pushing"
the canoe ashore."

" That man does not move like an Indian — ^hark !
he is whistling. I ought to know that tune. It
sounds like the old chanson my father used to
sing;" and Louis, raising his voice, began to sing
the words of an old French Canadian song, which
we will give in the English, as we heard it sung by
an old lumberer, —

"Down by those banks where the pleasant waters flow,
Through the wild woods well wander, and we'll chase
the buffalo.
And we'll chase the buffalo."

"Hush, Louis! you will bring the man over to
us," said Hector.

" The very thing I am trying to do, mon ami. This
is our country, and that may be his; but we are lords
here, and two to one, so I think he will not be likely
to treat us ill. I am a man now, and so are you, and
he is but one ; so he must mind how he affronts us,"
replied Louis, laughing.

" Hark, if he is not singing now ! ay, and the
very chorus of the old song " — and Louis raised his
voice to its highest pitch as he repeated, —

282 ATTRACTING THE NOTICE OF THE STRANGER.

** * Through the wild woods well wander,
And we'll chase the buffalo —
And well chase the buffala'

What a pity I have forgotten the rest of that dear
old song. I used to listen with open ears to it when
I was a boy. I never thought to hear it again^ and
to hear it here of all places in the world ! "

" Come, let us go on with our work," said Hector,
with something like impatience in his voice, and the
strokes of his axe fell once more in regular succession
on the log; but Louis's eye was still on the mysterious
fisher, whom he could discern lounging on the grass
and smoking his pipe. " I do not think he sees or
hears us," said Louis to himself, "but I think 1*11
ma^e to bring him over soon ; " and he set himself
busily to work to scrape up the loose chips and shav-
ings, and soon began to strike fire with his knife and
flint.

" What are you about, Louis ? " asked Hector.

" Lighting a fire."

" It is warm enough without a fire, I am sure."

" I know that ; but I want to attract the notice of
yonder tiresome fisherman."

"And perhaps bring a swarm of savages down
upon us, who may be lurking in the bushes of the
island."

" Pooh, pooh ! Hec ; there are no savages. I am
weary of this place — anything is better than this
horrible solitude." And Louis fanned the flame into
a rapid blaze, and heaped up the light dry branches
till it soared up among the bushes. Louis watched

" WHAT A JOYFUL MEETING ! " 283

the effect of his fire, and rubbed his hands gleefully
as the bark canoe was pushed off from the island,
and a few vigorous strokes of the paddle sent it
dancing over the surface of the calm lake.

Louis waved his cap above his head with a cheer
of welcome as the vessel lightly glided into the little
cove, near the spot where the boys were chopping,
and a stout -framed, weather-beaten man, in a
blanket coat, also faded and weather-beaten, with
a red worsted sash and worn moccasins, sprang upon
one of the timbers of Louis's old raft, and gazed with
a keen eye upon the lads. Each party silently re-
garded the other. A few rapid interrogations from
the stranger, uttered in the broad patois of the Lower
Province, were answered in a mixture of broken
French and English by Louis.

A change like lightning passed over the face of
the old man as he cried out — *' Louis Perron, son of
my ancient compagnon!"

" Oui ! oui ! " — with eyes sparkling through tears
of joy, Louis threw himself into the broad breast of
Jacob Morelle, his father's friend and old lumbering
comrade.

"Hector, son of la belle Catharine Perron!" and
Hector, in his turn, received the affectionate embrace
of the warm-hearted old man.

"Who would have thought of meeting with the
children of my old comrade here at the shore of the
Rice Lake ? Oh ! what a joyful meeting ! "

Jacob had a hundred questions to ask — ^Where
were their parents ? did they live on the Plains

284 THE OLD TRAPPER.

now ? how long was it since they had left the Cold
Springs ? were there any more little ones ? and so
forth.

The boys looked sorrowfully at each other. At
last the old man stopped for want of breath, and
remarked their sad looks.

Hector told the old lumberer how long they had
been separated from their families, and by what sad
accident they had been deprived of the society of
their beloved sister. When they brought their nar-
rative down to the disappearance of Catharine, the
whole soul of the old trapper seemed moved; he
started from the log on which they were sitting, and
with one of his national asseverations, declared "that
he, her father's old friend, would go up the river and
bring her back in safety, or leave his gray scalp be-
hind him among the wigwams."

" It is too late, Jacob, to think of starting to-day,"
said Hector. "Come home with us, and eat some
food, and rest a bit."

"No need of that, my son. I have a lot of fish
here in the canoe ; and there is an old shanty on the
island yonder, if it be still standing — the Trapper's
Fort I used to call it some years ago. We will go
off to the island and look for it."

" No need for that," replied Louis ; " though I can
tell you the old place is still in good repair, for we
used it this very spring as a boiling-hoase for our
maple sap. We have a better place of our own
nearer at hand — -just two or three hundred yards
over the brow of yonder hill. So come with us,

OLD WOLFE. 285

and you shall have a good supper, and bed to lie
upon."

" And you have all these, boys ! " said Jacob, open-
ing his merry black eyes, as they came in sight of
the little log-house and the field of green com.

The old man praised the boys for their industry
and energy. "Ha! here is old Wolfe too," as the
dog roused himself from the hearth, and gave one
of his low grumbling growls. He had grown dull
and dreamy, and instead of going out as usual with
the young hunters, he would lie for hours dozing
before the dying embers of the fire. He pined for
the loving hand that used to pat his sides, caress his
shaggy neck, and pillow his great head upon her lap,
or sufier him to put his huge paws on her shoulders,
while he licked her hands and face ; but she was
gone, and the Indian girl was gone, and the light of
the shanty had gone with them. Old Wolfe seemed
dying of sorrow.

That evening, as Jacob sat on the three-legged
stool smoking his short Indian pipe, he again would
have the whole story of their wanderings over, and
the history of all their doings and contrivances.

"And how far do you think you are from the
Cold Springs ? "

" At least twenty miles, perhaps fifty ; for it is a
long, long time now since we left home — three sum-
mers ago."

" Well, boys, you must not reckon distance by
the time you have been absent," said the old man.
" Now, I know the distance through the woods, for

286 Jacob's experience.

I have passed through them on the Indian trail,
and by my reckoning, as the bee flies, it cannot be
more than seven or eight miles — no, nor that either."

The boys opened their eyes. " Jacob, is this pos-
sible ? So near, and yet to us the distance has been
as gre^i as though it were a hundred miles or more."

" I tell you, boys, that is the provoking part of it.
I remember, when I was out on the St. John lum-
bering, missing my comrades, and I wa^ well-nigh
starving, when I chanced to come back to the spot
where we parted; and I verily believe I had not
been two miles distant the whole eight days that
I was moving round and round, and backward and
forward, just in a circle, because, d'ye see, I followed
the sun, and that led me astray the whole time."

" Was that when you well-nigh roasted the bear ? "
asked Louis, with a sly glance at Hector.

" Well, no — that was another time; your father was
out with me then." And old Jacob, knocking the
ashes out of his pipe, settled himself to recount the
adventure of the bear. Hector, who had heard Louis's
edition of the roast bear, was almost impatient at
being forced to listen to old Jacob's long-winded
history, which included about a dozen other stories,
all tagged on to this, like links of a lengthened
chain ; and he was not sorry when the old lumberer,
taking his red night-cap out of his pocket, at last
stretched himself out on a buffalo skin he had brought
up from the canoe, and soon was soundly sleeping.

The morning was yet gray when the old man
shook himself from his slumber; and, after having

JAOOB^S RESOLUTION. 287

roused up a good fire, which, though the latter end
of July, at that dewy hour was not unwelcome, he
lighted his pipe, and began broiling a fish for his
breakfast ; and was thus engaged when Hector and
Louis wakened.

" I have been turning over in my mind about your
sister," said he, " and have come to the resolution of
going up the river alone without any one to accom-
pany me. I know the Indians: they are a suspicious
people ; they deal much in stratagems ; and they are
apt to expect treachery in others. Perhaps they
have had some reason ; for the white men have not
always kept good faith with them, which I take to
be the greater shame, as they have God's laws to
guide and teach them to be true and just in their
dealing, which the poor benighted heathen have not,
the more*s the pity. Now, d'ye see, if the Indians
see two stout lads with me, they will say to them-
selves there may be more left behind, skulking in
ambush. So, boys, I go to the camp alone; and,
God willing, I will bring back your sister, or die in
the attempt. I shall not go empty-handed; see, I
have here scarlet cloth, beads, and powder and shot.
I carry no fire-water: it is a sin and a shame to
tempt these poor wretches to their own destruction ;
it makes fiends of them at once."

It was to no purpose that Hector and Louis
passionately besought old Jacob to let them share
the dangers of the expedition; the old man was
firm, and would not be moved from his purpose.

" Look you, boys," he said, " if I do not return by

288 PARTING OOUNSEL.

the beginning of the rice-harvest, you may suppose
that evil has befallen me and the girl. Then I would
advise you to take care for your own safety ; for if
they do not respect my gray head, neither will they
spare your young ones. In such case make your-
selves a good canoe — a dug-out* will do — and go
down the lake till you are stopped by the rapids ; f
make a portage there; but as your craft is too
weighty to carry far, e'en leave her and chop out
another, and go down to the falls ; J then, if you do
not like to be at any further trouble, you may make
out your journey to the bay § on foot, coasting along
the river; there you will fall in with settlers who
know old Jacob Morelle, ay, and your two fathers,
and they will put you in the way of returning
home. If I were to try ever so to put you on the
old Indian trail in the woods, though I know it
myself right well, you might be lost, and maybe
never return home again. I leave my traps and my
rifle with you; I shall not need them. If I come
back I may claim the things ; if not, they are yours.
So now I have said my say, had my talk, as the
Indians say. Farewell. But first let us pray to
Him who alone can bring this matter to a safe issue."
And the old man devoutly kneeled down, and prayed
for a blessing on his voyage and on those he was
leaving; and then hastened down to the beach, and
the boys, with full hearts, watched the canoe till it
was lost to their sight on the wide waters of the lake.

* Log-canoe. t Crook's Rapids,

t Heelef's Falls, on the Trent. § Bay Quints.

CHAPTER XV.

" Where wild in woods the lordly savage ran."— Drydek.

HE setting sun was casting long shadows
of oak and weeping elm athwart the
waters of the river ; the light dip of the
paddle had ceased on the water, the bay-
ing of hounds and life-like stirring sounds from the
lodges came softened to the listening ear. The
hunters had come in with the spoils of a successful
chase; the wigwam lires are flickering and crackling,
sending up their ligh^ columns of thin blue smoke
among the trees; and now a goodly portion of
venison is roasting on the forked sticks before the
fires. Each lodge has its own cooking utensiLs.
That jar embedded in the hot embers contains sassa-
fras tea, an aromatic beverage in which the squaws
delight when they are so fortunate as to procure a
supply. This has been brought from the Credit, far
up in the west, by a family who have come down
on a special mission from some great chief to his
brethren on the Otonabee, and the squaws have
cooked some in honour of the guests. That pot that
sends up such a savoury steam is venison pottage, or

(721) 1 9

290 INDIANA DISCOVERS CATHARINE.

soup, or stew, or any name you choose to give the
Indian mess that is concocted of venison, wild rice,
and herbs. Those tired hounds that lie stretched
before the fire have been out, and now they enjoy
the privilege of the fire, some praise from the hunters,
and receive withal an occasional reproof from the
squaws, if they approach their wishful noses too
close to the tempting viands.

The elder boys are shooting at a mark on yonder
birch-tree; the girls are playing or rolling on the
grass ; the " Snow-Bird " is seated on the floor of the
wigwam braiding a necklace of sweet grass, which
she confines in links by means of little bands of
coloured quills; Catharine is working moccasins
beside her. A dark shadow falls across her work from
the open tent door ; an exclamation of surprise and
displeasure from one of the women makes Catharine
raise her eyes to the doorway. There, silent, pale,
and motionless, the mere shadow of her former self,
stands Indiana ; a gleam of joy lights for an instant
her large lustrous eyes. Amazement and delight at
the sight of her beloved friend for a moment deprive
Catharine of the power of speech ; then terror for
the safety of her friend takes the place of her joy
at seeing her. She rises regardless of the angry
tones of the Indian woman's voice, and throws
her arms about Indiana, as if to shield her from
threatened danger, and sobs her welcome in her
arms.

" Indiana, dear sister ! how came you hither, and
for what purpose ?"

BEFORE THE GREAT CHIEF. 291

"To free you, and then die," was the soft, low,
tremulous answer. " Follow me."

Catharine, wondering at the calm and fearless
manner with which the young Mohawk waved back
the dusky matron who approached as if with the
design of laying hands upon her unwelcome guest,
followed with beating heart till they stood in the
entrance of the lodge of the Bald Eagle. It was filled
with the hunters, who were stretched on skins on
the floor, reposing in quiet after the excitement of
the chase.

The young Mohawk bent her head down and
crossed her arms over her breast, an attitude of sub-
mission, as she stood in the opening of the lodge;
but she spoke no word till the old chief, waving back
the men who, starting to their feet, were gathering
round him as if to shield him from danger, and
sternly regarding her, demanded from whence she
came and for what purpose.

" To submit myself to the will of my Ojebwa
father," was the meek reply. " May the daughter
of the Bald Eagle's enemy speak to her great
father ?"

" Say on," was the brief reply ; " the Bald Eagle's
ears are open."

" The Bald Eagle is a mighty chief, the conqueror
of his enemies, and the father of his people," replied
the Mohawk girl, and again was silent.

" The Mohawk squaw speaks well ; let her
say on."

" The heart of the Mohawk is an open flower ; it

292 THE YOUNO MOHAWK's SPEECH.

can be looked upon by the eye of the Great Spirit.
She speaks the words of truth. The Ojebwa chief
slew his enemies: they had done his good heart
wrong; he punished them for the wrong they
wrought; he left none living in the lodges of his
enemies save one yoimg squaw, the daughter of a
brave, the grand-daughter of the Black Snake. The
Bald Elagle loves even an enemy that is not afraid to
raise the war-whoop or fling the tomahawk in battle.
The young girl's mother was a brave." She paused,
while her proud eyes were fixed on the face of her
aged auditor. He nodded assent, and she resumed,
while a flush of emotion kindled her pale cheek and
reddened her lips : —

"The Bald Eagle brought the lonely one to his
lodge ; he buried the hatchet and the scalping-knife,
he bade his squaws comfort her : but her heart was
lonely, she pined for the homes of her fathers. She
said, I will revenge my father, my mother, and my
brothers and sisters; and her heart burned within
her. But her hand was not strong to shed blood; the
Great Spirit was about my Ojebwa father. She failed,
and would have fled, for an arrow was in her flesh.
The people of the Bald Eagle took her; they brought
her down the great river to the council hill; they
bound her with thongs, and left her to die. She
prayed, and the Great Spirit heard her prayer and
sent her help. The white man came ; his heart was
soft ; he unbound her, he gave water to cool her hot
lips, he led her to his lodge. The white squaw (and
she pointed to Catharine) was there ; she bound up

THE GREAT CHIEF SPEAK& 293

her wounds, she laid her on her own bed, she gave
her meat and drink, and tended her with love. She
taught her to pray to the Good Spirit, and told her
to return good for evil, to be true and just, kind and
merciful. The hard heart of the young girl became
soft as clay when moulded for the pots, and she
loved her white sister and brothers, and was happy.
The Bald Eagle s people came when my white
brothers were at peace; they found a trembling fawn
within the lodge ; they led her away ; they left tears
and loneliness where joy and peace had been. The
Mohawk squaw could not see the hearth of her white
brothers desolate. She took the canoe ; she came to
the lodge of the great father of his tribe, and she
says to him, Give back the white squaw to her
home on the Rice Lake, and take in her stoad the
rebellious daughter of the Ojebwa's enemy, to die or
be his servant ; she fears not now the knife or the
tomahawk, the arrow or the spear : her life is in the
hand of the great chief." She sank on her knees as
she spoke these last words, and bowing down her
head on her breast remained motionless as a
statue.

There was silence for some minutes, and then the
old man rose and said : —

" Daughter of a brave woman, thou hast spoken
long, and thou hast spoken well; the ears of the
Bald Eagle have been opened. The white squaw
shall be restored to her brothers lodge; but thou
remainest. I have spoken.'*

Catharine, in tears, cast her arms round her dis-

CATUARINB INTBBCBDE&

interested friend and remained weeping : how could
»he accept thia great sacrifice ? She, in her turn.

pleaded for the life and hberty of the Mohawk ; but
the chief turned a cold ear to her passionate and
incoherent pleading. He was weary — he was im-

AT THE DEAD HOUR OF NIQHT. 295

patient of further excitement — he coldly motioned to
them to withdraw ; and the friends in sadness retired
to talk over all that had taken place since that sad
day when Catharine was taken from her home.
While her heart was joyful at the prospect of her
own release, it was clouded with fears for the uncer-
tain fate of her beloved friend,

"They will condemn me to a cruel death," said
Indiana; "but I can suffer and die for my white
sister.'*

That night the Indian girl slept sweetly and tran-
quilly beside Catharine. But Catharine could not
sleep ; she communed with her own heart in the still
watches of the night ; it seemed as if a new life had
been infused within her. She no longer thought and
felt as a child ; the energies of her mind had been
awakened, ripened into maturity, as it were, and
suddenly expanded. When all the inmates of the
lodges were profoundly sleeping, Catharine arose : a
sudden thought had entered into her mind, and she
hesitated not to put her design into execution. There
was no moon, but a bright arch of light spanned the
forest to the north ; it was mild and soft as moon-
light, but less bright, and cast no shadow across her
path; it showed her the sacred tent of the widow
of the murdered Mohawk, With noiseless; step she
lifted aside the curtain of skins that guarded it, and
stood at the entrance. Light as was her step, it
awakened the sleeper ; she raised herself on her arm,
and looked up with a dreamy and abstracted air as
Catharine, stretching forth her hand, in tones low

296 A DARING DEED.

and tremulous, thus addressed her in the Ojebwa
tongue : —

" The Great Spirit sends me to thee, woman of
much sorrow ; he asks of thee a great deed of mercy
and goodness. Thou hast shed blood, and he is angry.
He bids thee to save the life of an enemy — the blood
of thy murdered husband flows in her veins. See
that thou disobey not the words that he commands."

She dropped the curtain and retired as she had
come, with noiseless step, and lay down again in the
tent beside Indiana. Her heart beat as though it
would burst its way through her bosom. What had
she done ? — what dared ? She had entered the pre-
sence of that terrible woman alone, at the dead hour of
night ! she had spoken bold and presumptuous words
to that strange being whom even her own people
hardly dared to approach uncalled for ! Sick with
terror at the consequences of her temerity, Catharine
cast her trembling arms about the sleeping Indian
girl, and, hiding her head in her bosom, wept and
prayed till sleep came over her wearied spirit. It
was late when she awoke. She was alone ; the lodge
was empty. A vague fear seized her: she hastily
arose to seek her friend. It was evident that some
great event was in preparation. The Indian men had
put on the war-paint, and strange and ferocious eyes
were glancing from beneath their shaggy locks. A
stake was driven in the centre of the cleared space
in front of the chief's lodge : there, bound, she beheld
her devoted friend ; pale as ashes, but with a calm,
unshaken countenance, she stood. There was no

INDIANA AT THE STAKE. 297

sign of woman's fear in her fixed dark eye, which
quailed not before the sight of the death-dooming
men who stood round her, armed with their terrible
weapons of destruction. Her thoughts seemed far
away: perhaps they were with her dead kindred,
wandering in that happy land to which the Indian
hopes to go after life ; or, iaspired with the new hope
which had been opened to her, she was looking to
Him who has promised a crown of life to such as
believe in his name. She saw not the look of agony
with which Catharine regarded her; and the poor
girl, full of grief, sunk down at the foot of a neigh-
bouring tree, and, burying her face between her knees,
wept and prayed — oh, how fervently! A hope
crept to her heart — even while the doom of Indiana
seemed darkest — that some good might yet accrue
from her visit to the wigwam of the Great Medicine
squaw. She knew that the Indians have great belief
in omens, and warnings, and spirits both good and
evil; she knew that her mysterious appearance at
the tent of the Mohawk's widow would be construed
by her into spiritual agency; and her heart was
strengthened by this hope. Yet just now there seems
little reason to encourage hope; the war-whoop is
given, the war-dance is begun — ^first slow, and grave,
and measured; now louder, and quicker, and more
wild become both sound and movement. But why
is it hushed again ? See, a strange canoe appears on
the river ; anon an old weather-beaten man, with firm
step, appears on the greensward, and approaches the
area of the lodge.

298 AN ANXIOUS MOMENT.

The Bald Eagle greets him with friendly courtesy;
the dance ceases and the death-song is hushed ; a treaty
is begun. It is for the deliverance of the captives.
The chief points to Catharine — she is free ; his white
brother may take her — she is his. But the Indian
law of justice must take its course : the condemned,
who raised her hand against an Ojebwa chief, must
die. In vain are the tempting stores of scarlet cloth
and beads for the women, with powder and shot, laid
before the chief: the arrows of six warriors are
fitted to the string, and again the dance and song
commence, as if, like the roll of the drum and
clangour of the trumpet, they were necessary to the
excitement of strong and powerful feelings, and the
suppression of all tenderer emotions.

And now a wild and solemn voice is heard, un-
earthly in its tones, rising above the yells of those
savage men. At the sound every cheek becomes
pale : it strikes upon the ear as some funeral wail.
Is it the death-song of the captive girl bound to
that fearful stake ? No ; for she stands unmoved,
with eyes raised heavenward, and lips apart, —

" In still but brave despair."

Shrouded in a mantle of dark cloth, her long black
hair unbound and streaming over her shoulders,
appears the Mohawk widow, the daughter of the
Ojebwa chief. The gathering throng fall back as
she approaches, awed by her sudden appearance
among them. She stretches out a hand on which
dark stains are visible — it is the blood of her husband,

THE MOHAWK WIDOW'S CULIU. 299

sacnficed by her on that day of fearful deeds : it has
never been effaced. In the name of the Qreat Spirit

she claims the captive girl — the last of that devoted
tribe — to be delivered over to her will. Her right to
this remnant of her murdered husband's family is

300 A DEED OF MEROT.

acknowledged. A knife is placed in her hand,
while a deafening yell of triumph bursts from the
excited squaws, as this their great high priestess, as
they deem her, advances to the criminal. But it
is not to shed the heart s blood of the Mohawk
girl, but to sever the thongs that bind her to the
deadly stake, for which that glittering blade is
drawn, and to bid her depart in peace whithersoever
she would go.

Then, turning to the Bald Eagle, she thus addresses
him : ** At the dead of night, when the path of light
spanned the sky, a vision stood before mine eyes. It
came from the Great and Good Spirit, and bade me
to set free the last of a murdered race, whose sun had
gone down in blood shed by my hand and by the
hands of my people. The vision told me that if I
did this my path should henceforth be peace, and
that I should go to the better land and be at rest if I
did this good deed." She then laid her hands on the
head of the young Mohawk, blessed her, and, envel-
oping herself in the dark mantle, slowly retired back
to her solitary tent once more.

CHAPTER XVI.

" Hame, hame, hame,

Hame I soon shall be —
Hame, hame, hame,

In mine own countrie *'— Scotch Ballad.

|LD Jacob and Catharine, who had been
mute spectators of the scene so full of
interest to them, now presented themselves
before the Ojebwa chief and besought
leave to depart. The presents were again laid before
him, and this time were graciously accepted. Catha-
rine, in distributing the beads and cloth, took care
that the best portion should fall to the grand-daughter
of the chief, the pretty, good-humoured " Snow-bird."
The old man was not insensible to the noble sacrifice
which had been made by the devoted Indiana, and
he signified his forgiveness of her fault by graciously
offering to adopt her as his child, and to give her in
marriage to one of his grandsons, an elder brother of
the " Snow-bird ; " but the young girl modestly but
firmly refused this mark of favour, for her heart
yearned for those whose kindness had saved her
from death, and who had taught her to look beyond
the things of this world to a brighter and a better

302 BIDDING FAREWELL TO THE BALD EAQLE.

state of being. She said "she would go with her
white sister, and pray to God to bless her enemies, as
the Great Spirit had taught her to do."

It seems a lingering principle of good in human
nature that the exercise of mercy and virtue opens
the heart to the enjoyment of social happiness. The
Indians, no longer worked up by excitement to deeds
of violence, seemed disposed to bury the hatchet of
hatred, and the lodge was now filled with mirth and
the voice of gladness, feasting, and dancing. A cove-
nant of peace and good-will was entered upon by old
Jacob and the chief, who bade Catharine tell her
brothers that from henceforth they should be free to
hunt the deer, fish, or shoot the wild-fowl of the lake
whenever they desired to do so, " he, the Bald Eagle,
had said so."

On the morrow, with the first dawn of day, the
old trapper was astir; the canoe was ready, with
fiesh cedar boughs strewed at the bottom. A supply
of parched rice and dried fish had been presented
by the Indian chief for the voyage, that his white
brother and the young girls might not suffer from
want. At sunrise the old man led his young charges
to the lodge of the Bald Eagle, who took a kindly
farewell of them. The " Snow-bird" was sorrowful,
and her bright, laughing eyes were dimmed with
tears at parting with Catharine. She was a gentle,
loving thing, as soft and playful as the tame fawn
that nestled its velvet head against her arm. She
did not let Catharine depart without many tokens of
her regard, the work of her own hands, — bracelets of

A TOKEN OP RECONCILIATION AND GOOD-WILL. 303

porcupine quills cut in fine pieces, and strung in
fanciful patterns, moccasins richly wrought, and
tiny bark dishes and boxes, such as might have
graced a lady's work-table, so rare was their work-
manship.

Just as they were about to step into the canoe,
the " Snow-bird" reappeared, bearing a richly worked
bark box, " From the Great Medicine," she said in a
low voice, " to the daughter of the Mohawk brave."
The box contained a fine tunic, soft as a lady's glove,
embroidered and fringed, and a fillet of scarlet and
blue feathers, with the wings and breast of the war-
bird as shoulder ornaments. Tt was a token of
reconciliation and good-will worthy of a generous
heart.

The young girl pressed the gifts to her bosom and
to her lips reverentially, and the hand that brought
them to her heart, as she said in her native tongue,
"Tell the Great Medicine I kiss her in my heart,
and pray that she may have peace and joy till she
departs for the spirit land.'*

With joyful heart they bade adieu to the Indian
lodges, and rejoiced in being once more afloat on the
bosom of the great river. To Catharine the events
of the past hours seemed like a strange bewildering
dream. She longed for the quiet repose of home;
and how gladly did she listen to that kind old man s
plans for restoring Hector, Louis, and herself to the
arms of their beloved parents: How often did she
say to herself, " Oh that I had wings like a dove, for
then would I flee away and be at rest! — in the shelter

304 COMPELLED TO HALT.

of that dear mother's arms whom she now pined for
with a painful yearning of the heart that might well
be called home-sickness. But in spite of anxious
wishes, the little party were compelled to halt for the
night some few miles above the lake. There is on
the eastern bank of the Otonabee a pretty, rounded
knoll, clothed with wild cherries, hawthorns, and
pine-trees, just where a creek half hidden by alder
and cranberry bushes works its way below the
shoulder of the little eminence. This creek grows
broader and becomes a little stream, through which
the hunters sometimes paddle their canoes, as a short
cut to the lower part of the lake near Crook s
Rapids.

To this creek old Jacob steered his little craft, and
bidding the girls collect a few dry sticks and branches
for an evening fire on the sheltered side of the little
bank, he soon lighted the pile into a cheerful blaze
by the aid of birch bark, the hunter s tinder — a sort
of fungus that is found in the rotten oak and maple
trees — and a knife and flint. He then lifted the
canoe, and having raised it on its side, by means
of two small stakes which he cut from a bush hard
by, he spread down his bufialo robe on the dry
grass.

"There is a tent fit for a queen to sleep under,
mes chhres JilleSy" he said, eying his arrangements for
their night shelter with great satisfaction.

He baited his line, and in a few minutes had a
dish of splendid bass ready for the fire. Catharine
seJected a large flat block of limestone on which the

THE NIGHT SHELTER. 305

fish when broiled was laid ; but old Jacob opened his
wide mouth and laughed when she proceeded to lay
her bush table with large basswood leaves for platters.
Such nicety he professed was unusual on a hunter s
table. He was too old a forester to care how his
food was dished, so that he had wherewithal to satisfy
his hunger.

Many were the merry tales he told and the songs
he sung, to while away the time, till the daylight
faded from the sky, and the deep blue heavens were
studded with bright stars, which were mirrored in
countless hosts deep deep down in that calm waveless
river, while thousands of fire-flies lighted up the dark
recesses of the forest's gloom. High in the upper air
the hollow booming of the night-hawk was heard at
intervals ; and the wild cry of the night-owl from a
dead branch, shouting to its fellow, woke the silence
of that lonely river scene.

The old trapper, stretched before the crackling fire,
smoked his pipe or hummed some French voyageiir's
song. Beneath the shelter of the canoe soundly slept
the two girls; the dark cheek of the Indian girl
pillowed on the arm of her fairer companion, her
thick tresses of raven hair mingling with the silken
ringlets of the white maiden. They were a lovely
pair — one fair as morning, the other dark as night.

How gaily did they spring from their low bed,
wakened by the early song of the forest birds ! The
light curling mist hung in fleecy volumes on the
river, like a flock of sheep at rest; the tinkling sound
of the heavy dew-drops fell in mimic showers upon

(721) 20

306 WHAT GURGLING SOUND IS THAT?

the stream. See that red squirrel, how lightly he
runs along that fallen trunk ! how furtively he
glances with his sharp bright eye at the intruders on
his silvan haunts! Hark! there is a rustling among
the leaves ; what strange creature works its way to
the shore? A mud turtle: it turns, and now is
trotting along the little sandy ridge to some sunny
spot, where, half buried, it may lie unseen near the
edge of the river. See that musk-rat, how boldly he
plunges into the stream, and, with his oar-like tail,
stems the current till he gains in safety the sedges
on the other side.

What gurgling sound is that? — it attracts the
practised ear of the old hunter. What is that object
which floats so steadily down the middle of the
stream, and leaves so bright a line in its wake? — it is
a noble stag. Look at the broad chest with which
he breasts the water so gallantly ; see how proudly
he carries his antlered head! He has no fear in those
lonely solitudes — he has never heard the crack of the
hunter's rifle — he heeds not the sharp twang of that
bow-string, till the arrow rankles in his neck, and
the crimson flood dyes the water around him. He
turns, but it is only to present a surer mark for the
arrow from the old hunter's bow. And now the noble
beast turns to bay, and the canoe is rapidly launched
by the hand of the Indian girl. Her eye flashes with
the excitement ; her whole soul is in the chase ; she
stands up in the canoe, and steers it full upon the
wounded buck, while a shower of blows is dealt
upon his head and neck with the paddle. Catharine

DOWN THE OTONABEE. 307

buries her face in her hands; she cannot bear to look
upon the sufferings of the noble animal. She will
never make a huntress ; her heart is cast in too soft
a mould. See they have towed the deer ashore, and
Jacob is in all his glory. The little squaw is an
Indian at heart — see with what expertness she
helps the old man. And now the great business is
completed, and the venison Is stowed away at the
bottom of the canoe. They wash their hands in the
river, and come at Catharine's summons to their
breakfast.

The sun is now rising high above the pine-trees ;
the morning mist is also rising and rolUng off like
a golden veil as it catches those glorious rays ; the
whole earth seems wakening into new life ; the dew
has brightened every leaf and washed each tiny
flower-cup; the pines and balsams give out their
resinous fragrance : the aspens flutter and dance in
the morning breeze, and return a mimic shower of
dew-drops to the stream ; the shores become lower
and flatter ; the trees less lofty and more mossy ; the
stream expands, and wide beds of rushes spread out
on either side; what beds of snowy water-lilies; how
splendid the rose tint of those perseicarias that glow
so brightly in the morning sun ; the rushes look like
a green meadow, but the treacherous water lies deep
below their grassy leaves ; the deer delighis in these
verdant aquatic fields; and see what flocks of red-
wings rise from among them as the canoe passes
near — their bright shoulder-knots glance like flashes
of lightning in the sunbeams.

308 UPON THE BROAD RICE LAKE,

This low swampy island, filled with drift-wood;
these gray hoary trees, half choked and killed with
gray moss and lichens, those straggling alders and
black ash, look melancholy ; they are like premature
old age, gray-headed youths. That island divides
the channel of the river: the old man takes the
nearest, the left hand. And now they are upon the
broad Rice Lake, and Catharine wearies her eye to
catch the smoke of the shanty rising among the
trees: one after another the islands steal out into
view; the capes, bays, and shores of the northern side
are growing less distinct. Yon hollow bay, where
the beaver has hidden till now, backed by that bold
sweep of hills that look in the distance as if only
covered with green ferns, with here and there a tall
tree, stately as a pine or oak, — that is the spot where
Louis saw the landing of the Indians : now a rising
village — Gore's Landing. On yon lofty hill now
stands the village church, — its white tower rising
amongst the trees forms a charming object from the
lake ; and there, a little higher up, not far from the
plank road, now stand pretty rural cottages : one of
these belongs to the spirited proprietor of the village
that bears his name. That tasteful c^arden before
the white cottage, to the right, is Colonel Brown's,
and there are pretty farms and cultivated spots ; but
silence and loneliness reigned there at the time of
which I write.

Where those few dark pines rise above the oak
groves like the spires of churches in a crowded city,
is Mount Ararat. The Indian girl steers straight

AT THE THRESHOLD OF THE LOG-HOUSE. 309

between the islands for that ark of refuge, and Cath-
arine s eyes are dimmed with grateful tears as she
pictures to herself the joyful greeting in store for her.
In the overflowings of her gladness she seizes the old
man's rugged hand and kisses it, and flings her arms
about the Indian girl and presses her to her heart,
when the canoe has touched the old well-remembered
landing-place, and she finds herself so near, so very
near her lost home. How precious are such moments
— how few we have in life ! They are created from
our very sorrows ; without our cares our joys would
be less lively. But we have no time to moralize.
Catharine flies with the speed of a young fawn to
climb the cliff-like shoulder of that steep bank ; and
now, out of breath, she stands at the threshold of
her log-house. How neat and nice it looks compared
with the Indians' tents ! The little field of com is
green and flourishing. There is Hector's axe in a
newly-cut log: it is high noon; the boys ought to
have been there taking their mid-day meal, but the
door is shut. Catharine lifts the wooden latch, and
steps in. The embers are nearly burned out to a
handful of gray ashes. Old Wolfe is not there — all
is silent; and Catharine sits down to still the beating
of her heart, and await the coming of her slower
companions, and gladdens her mind with the hope
that her brother and Louis will soon be home. Her
eye wanders over every old familiar object. All
things seem much as she had left them ; only, the
maize is in the ear, and the top feather waves grace-
fully in the summer breeze. It promises an abun-

310 A HAPPY REUNION.

dant crop. But that harvest is not to be gathered by
the hands of the young planters ; it was left to the
birds of the air and the beasts of the field — to those
humble reapers who sow not, neither do they gather
into bams, for the heavenly Father feedeth them.
While the two girls busied themselves in preparing a
fine roast of venison, old Jacob stalked away over the
hills to search for the boys, and it was not long before
he returned with Hector and Louis.

I must not tell tales, or I might say what tears of
joy were mingled with the rapturous greetings with
which Louis embraced his beloved cousin; or I might
tell that the bright flush that warmed the dusky
cheek of the young Indian and the light that danced
in her soft black eyes owed their origin to the kiss
that was pressed on her red lips by her white brother.
Nor will we say whose hand held hers so long in his,
while Catharine related the noble sacrifice made for
her sake, and the perils encountered by the devoted
Indiana, whose eyes were moistened with tears as the
horrors of that fearful trial were described ; or who
stole out alone over the hills, and sat him down in
the hush and silence of the summer night to think
of the acts of heroism displayed by that untaught
Indian girl, and to dream a dream of youthful love :
with these things, my young readers, we have noth-
ing to do.

**And now, my children," said old Jacob, look-
ing round the little dwelling, " have you made up
your minds to live and die here on the shores of this
lake, or do you desire again to behold your fathers'

LEAVING THE OLD LOG-HOUSE. 311

home? Do your young hearts yearn after the hearth
of your childhood ? "

" After our fathers' home ! " was Louis's emphatic
reply. " After the home of our childhood ! '* was
Catharine's earnest answer. Hector's lips echoed his
sister's words, while a furtive troubled glance fell
upon the orphan stranger; but her timid eye was
raised to his young face with a trusting look, as if
she would have said, " Thy home shall be my home,
thy God my God."

" Well, I believe, if my old memory fails me not, I
can strike the Indian trail that used to lead to the
Cold Springs over the pine hills. It will not be dif-
ficult for an old trapper to find his way."

" For my part, I shall not leave this lovely spot
without regret," said Hector. " It would be a glorious
place for a settlement — all that one could desire —
hill and valley, and plain, wood, and water. I will
try and persuade my father to leave the Cold Springs,
and come and settle hereabouts. It would be delight-
ful — would it not, Catharine ? — especially now we are
friends with the Indians."

With their heads full of pleasant schemes for the
future, our young folks laid them down that night
to rest. In the morning they rose, packed up such
portable articles as they could manage to carry, and
with, full hearts sat down to take their last meal in
their home — in that home which had sheltered them
so long — and then, with one accord, they knelt down
upon its hearth, so soon to be left in loneliness, and
breathed a prayer to Him who had preserved them

312 ONCE HOKE INTO THE WILDERNESS.

thus far in their eventful lives ; and then they jour-
neyed forth once more into the wilderness. There
was one, however, of their little band they left be-
hind ; this was the faithful old dog Wolfe. He had
pined during the absence of his mistress, and only a
few days before Catharine s return he had crept to
the seat she was wont to occupy, and there died.
Louis and Hector buried him, not without great
regret, beneath the group of birch-trees on the brow
of the slope near the corn-field.

CHAPTER XVII.

*' I will arise, and go to my father."— Sf. LvJce.

T is the hour of sunset ; the sonorous sound
of the cattle - bells is heard, as they
slowly emerge from the steep hill-path
that leads to Maxwell and Louis Perron s
little clearing; the dark shadows are lengthening
that those wood-crowned hills cast over that sunny
spot, an oasis in the vast forest desert that man,
adventurous, courageous man, has hewed for himself
in the wilderness. The little flock are feeding among
the blackened stumps of the uncleared chopping :
those timbers have lain thus untouched for two
long years ; the hand was wanting that should have
given help in logging and burning them up. The
wheat is ripe for the sickle, and the silken beard of
the corn is waving like a fair girl's tresses in the
evening breeze. The tinkling fall of the cold spring
in yonder bank falls soothingly on the ear. Who
comes from that low-roofed log-cabin to bring in
the pitcher of water — that pale, careworn, shadowy-
figure that slowly moves along the green pasture,
as one without hope or joy ; her black hair shared

314 IN SIGHT OF HOME.

with silver, her cheek pale as wax, and her hand so
thin it looks as though the light might be seen
through if she held it towards the sun ? It is the
heart-broken mother of Catharine and Hector Max-
well. Her heart has been pierced with many sor-
rows ; she cannot yet forget the children of her love,
her first-bom girl and boy. Who comes to meet
her, and with cheerful voice chides her for the tear
that seems ever to be lingering on that pale cheek, —
yet the premature furrows on that broad, sunburnt,
manly brow speak, too, of inward care ? It is the
father of Hector and Catharine. Those two fine,
healthy boys, in homespun blouses, that are talking
so earnestly as they lean across the rail-fence of the
little wheat field, are Kenneth and Donald; their
sickles are on their arms — they have been reaping.
They hear the sudden barking of Bruce and Wallace,
the hounds, and turn to see what causes the agitation
they display.

An old man draws near; he has a knapsack on
his shoulders, which he casts down on the corner of
the stoup; he is singing a line of an old French
ditty ; he raps at the open door. The Highlander
bids him welcome, but starts with glad surprise as
his hand is grasped by the old trapper.

" Hah, Jacob Morelle, it is many a weary year since
your step turned this way." The tear stood in the
eye of the soldier as he spoke.

" Can you receive me and those I have with me for
the night ?" asked the old man, in a husky voice —
his kind heart was full. "A spare comer, a shake-

THE LOST ONES RESTORED. 315

down, will do ; we travellers in the bush are no wise
nice."

" The best we have, and kindly welcome, Jacob.
How many are ye in all ?"

"There are just four, besides myself, — young
people. I found them where they had been long
living, on a lonely lake, and I persuaded them to
come with me."

The strong features of the Highlander worked
convulsively, as he drew his faded blue bonnet over
his eyes. " Jacob, did ye ken that we lost our eldest
bairns some three summers since ?" he faltered in a
broken voice.

" The Lord, in his mercy, has restored them to you,
Donald, by my hand," said the trapper,

. " Let me see, let me see my children ! To Him be
the praise and the glory," ejaculated the pious father,
raising his bonnet reverently from his head; "and
holy and blessed be His name for ever ! I thought
not to have seen this day. Catharine, my dear
wife, this joy will kill you ! "

In a moment his children were enfolded in his
arms. It is a mistaken idea that joy kills; it is a life
restorer. Could you, my young readers, have seen
how quickly the bloom of health began to reappear
on the faded cheek of that pale mother, and how
soon that dim eye regained its bright sparkle, you
would have said joy does not kill.

" But where is Louis, dear Louis, our nephew,
where is he?"

Louis, whose impetuosity was not to be restrained

K HA PPT HOUR.

by the caution of old Jacob, had cleared the log-fence
at a bound, bad hastily embraced bis cousins Kenneth

and Donald, and in five minutes more had rushed
into his father's cottage, and wept his joy in the arms
o£ father, mother, and sisters by turns, before old

THE POOR INDIAN GIRL. 317

Jacob had introiduced the impatient Hector and
Catharine to their father

" But while joy is in our little dwelling, who is
this that sits apart upon that stone by the log-
fence, her face bent sadly down upon her knees,
her long raven hair shading her features as with a
veil ?" asked the Highlander Maxwell, pointing as
he spoke to the spot where, unnoticed and unsharing
in the joyful recognition, sat the poor Indian girl.
There was no paternal embrace for her, no tender
mother s kiss imprinted on that dusky cheek and
pensive brow; she was alone and desolate in the
midst of that scene of gladness.

" It is my Indian sister." said Catharine ; " she also
must be your child."

Hector hurried to Indiana, and taking her by the
hand led her to his parents, and bade them be kind
to and cherish the young stranger, to whom they all
owed so much.

Time passes on — ^years, long years have gone by
since the return of the lost children to their homes,
and many changes have those years effected. The
log -houses have fallen to decay — a growth of young
pines, a waste of emerald turf with the charred logs
that once formed part of the enclosure, now scarcely
serve to mark out the old settlement ; no trace or re-
cord remains of the first breakers of the bush — ^another
race occupy the ground. The traveller as he passes
along on that smooth turnpike road that leads from
Coburg to Cold Springs, and from thence to Gore's

318 THE NEW SETTLEMENT.

Landing, may notice a green waste by the roadside
on either hand, and fancy that thereabouts our
Canadian Crusoes' home once stood : he sees the
lofty wood-crowned hill, and in spring time — ^for in
summer it is hidden by the luxuriant foliage — the
little forest creek ; and he may, if thirsty, taste of the
pure, fresh, icy water, as it still wells out from a
spring in the steep bank, rippling through the little
cedar-trough that Louis Perron placed there for the
better speed of his mother when filling her water
jug. All else is gone. And what wrought the
change a few words will suffice to tell. Some trav-
elling fur merchants brought the news to Donald
Maxwell that a party of Highlanders had made a
settlement above Montreal, and among them were
some of his kindred. The old soldier resolved to
join them, and it was not hard to prevail upon his
brother-in-law to accompany him, for they were all
now weary of living so far from their fellow-men ;
and bidding farewell to the little log-houses at Cold
Springs, they now journeyed downwards to the new
settlement, where they were gladly received, their
long experience of the country making their com-
pany a most valuable acquisition to the new-come
colonists.

Not long after, the Maxwells took possession of a
grant of land, and cleared and built for themselves
and their family. Hector, now a fine industrious
young man, presented at the baptismal font, as a
candidate for baptism, the Indian girl, and then re-
ceived at the altar his newly-baptized bride. Catha-

A HAPPY END TO ADVERSITY. 319

rine and Louis were married on the same day as
Hector and Indiana. They lived happy and prosper-
ous lives ; and often, by their firesides, would delight
their children by recounting the history of their
wanderings on the Rice Lake Plains.

THE END.